Where the Chips May Fall
by Wynter S. Komen
Summary: Eames has been tapped to reunite with his old team to help Cobb complete a mission to get the threat of trumped-up murder charges off his back once and for all so he can enjoy his life with his children. Set in New York around the holidays, Eames uses his skills to commit forgery and theft while posing as an AD CEO at an advertising firm. The last he expects is to find love...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay. I know that this makes four stories. I know this. But I couldn't help it. I have been mulling over an Inception fic for a long time and I was inspired. This is going to be a holiday Inception story which I more than likely won't finish until March, but whatevs. Get ready for holiday cheer, romance, cheesiness, fluffiness, some lemons, some Inception lore, and plenty of Eames sexiness and snark. **

**Happy holidays, loves. **

**Chapter 1**

In an open-air villa on an exceptionally sunny, hot day in Mombasa, a young man, lean but impressively muscled, bronzed from the African sun, stretched blithely like a cat under a deliciously warm, golden beam and thought that it was rare for life to exceed its gloriousness in moments such as these.

Being a highly skilled, enterprising, corporate-level thief and an extraordinary identity forger allowed Liam Christopher Eames the opportunity to live life according to his rules, and no one else's. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of "rules" as they might apply to his life, in another life, and sipped from an icy, sweating glass that held an outstandingly strong _caipirinha._

He settled back in his chaise lounge which was parked midway through a double doorway that separated his bedroom from the balcony of his villa. Beyond that was nothing but the great African plain, stretching as far as his eyes could see. He shucked the short-sleeved cotton button-down shirt he'd been wearing and tossed it negligently to the floor. He'd left it unbuttoned to soak additional rays into his already bronzed chest, but the heat was becoming a bit much for him now. He was left in a pair of old linen shorts that he hiked above his knees, halfway up his heavily muscled thighs, to optimize his sun-basking experience. He sighed contentedly, slipping off his aviator sunglasses and relishing in the utter peace of the hot sun, the still air, and the sound of nature in his ears.

A few moments later, as the sound of heavy shoes on wood met his ears – presumably a size ten designer Italian leather loafer on the stairs leading up to his villa – Eames frowned hard enough to give himself a minor headache. So much for peace.

He sighed impatiently, taking another sip of his drink and glancing idly out over the landscape as he waited for the inevitable knock on his door. It came thirteen seconds later. He assumed it was probably Jomo, the keeper of the villa he was renting, to ensure that the property was as he'd left it. Jomo was nice enough, but he had an inherent dislike and distrust of anyone who was white. And a man. And a Brit. He had nothing against their money, however, as it had provided him with a very comfortable bachelor lifestyle that put him distinctly at odds with his impoverished neighbors.

Eames' lips pulled into a smirk. The odds were _not_in his favor of becoming close chums with that particular chap.

"Jomo, darling," he called over his shoulder, letting his default sarcastic tone flow into his voice. "I assure you I have stolen nothing from you today. However, let's not discuss yesterday. I'm just not ready to confess yet."

"Still up to your old tricks, Eames?"

The American accent and easygoing mid-timbre voice brought him up short, and in one fluid motion he turned around and rolled out of the chaise to his feet. For a moment he simply locked eyes with his new guest, a myriad of feelings assaulting him.

In the end, it was gladness that won.

"Dominick Cobb," he said slowly, reaching out to set his drink out and approach his old friend. He extended his hand. "To what do I owe this most pleasant and, dare I say, unexpected visit? I assumed you were buried in Los Angeles with your children."

Cobb reached out and grasped Eames' hand firmly, giving him a warm smile. It was never lost on Eames that no matter how old Cobb got, he would forever look like a little boy, from his wide-set blue eyes, heart-shaped face, and friendly, slightly mischievous smile. The only thing that ever changed about Cobb were the crow's feet that were just beginning to emerge at the corners of his eyes, and his forehead held a few more wrinkles. His sandy brown hair had only just begun to gray at the edges, but Eames assumed that had more to do with the stress of the past couple of years than aging. The man simply did not look any part of his thirty-seven years.

"I was, most happily so," Dom replied, letting go of Eames' hand. "And they are doing very, very well. A bit of potential business fell across my lap recently, and I decided that the best way to execute it would be to assemble the old team."

"Straight to the point, aren't we, darling?" Eames replied dryly. "I knew it couldn't have been merely wistful nostalgia that inspired you to come and seek out your old mate Eamsie."

"Well, that was certainly the icing," Dom replied mildly. He gestured around. "Can we sit and talk?"

"If you insist, although I must forewarn you that I am and have been on an extended holiday." Eames moved across the room, his bare feet scuffling along the wooden floorboards as he reached the bar to fix Dom a drink. "I find that I am rather reluctant to return to any sort of activity vaguely resembling work."

"Yes, I can see that," Cobb said dryly, giving him a head to toe look. "What with the lack of hair gel and all."

Eames barked out a laughed and turned to hand Dom a glass. "Lately I find that mussed hair and as little clothing as possible is what suits me best. Consider yourself fortunate that you stumbled upon me wearing as much clothing as I am presently." Nonetheless, he fetched his button down shirt from the floor and shrugged it on, buttoning three of the buttons haphazardly. "Shall we sit, mate?"

"Thank you." Dom took a seat on the overstuffed sofa in the corner while Eames went to fetch his chaise lounge and dragged it over, before flopping down upon it heavily. Dom lifted an eyebrow in amusement at Eames' lack of his previously unwavering gentility and gracefulness and brought his glass to his lips. He immediately made a face and spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Christ, Eames, what did you put in this?"

"It's a _caipirinha_, mate," Eames said with a charming grin. "Like a mint julep or a mojito. Just heavy on the rum and lime and less so on everything else. I make mine a bit differently."

"Mm." Cobb swallowed and bravely tried another sip. He winced, but it went down a little easier this time. He cleared his throat briefly and then gestured toward the open double doors that led to the balcony. "So, Mombasa again, eh, old friend?"

Eames sighed and shrugged. "This city calls out to me," he said. "It makes my blood sing. I feel at home here."

"It's where I sought you out the last time I needed you for a job," Cobb said, lifting his glass in a little toast to the memory. "So it seems only appropriate that the fates lined it up thusly again."

"Yes, about this job," Eames said flatly. "I was under the impression that you had retired, old boy."

"So did I," Cobb said with a sigh.

"So what is it now?" Eames demanded. "What is so bloody pressing that you would emerge from enjoying your life with the two little ones, free of the false charges of murdering your wife?"

"You've always had a rather keen ability for summarizing my series of unfortunate events with just the right touch of the melodramatic," Cobb said wryly. "And don't get me wrong, Eames. I'm not complaining about having my life with my children back." He sighed. "It seems as if the past is haunting me now."

"Please elaborate." Eames propped one ankle across the other knee and gulped his drink, looking expectantly at Cobb.

"Well," Cobb began, and took another sip of his drink, taking it much better this time. "Our old friend David Woodruff came calling the other week."

Eames instantly did not like where this was going, and frowned. David Woodruff, the CEO of Cobol Engineering, had remained something of a loose end after the inception job. He and his company had paid Cobb, Arthur Collins and that traitorous wanker Nash to extract information from Saito. Not only did Cobb and his team fail to do that – they went to work for Saito instead, which was the last time Cobb had sought him out in Kenya for his assistance.

Needless to say, Woodruff had not tap-danced at that little betrayal, any more than he had when he realized that the job that Saito had hired them all to do was to plant the idea in the head of Fischer-Morrow's new CEO, Robert Fischer, to break apart and sell his company – to Saito. Cobol Engineering had been in bed with Fischer-Morrow for an extremely long time, and between Mr. Woodruff and Fischer-Morrow's legal counsel – and little Robbie's godfather – Robert Browning, they stood to be royally screwed from that deal.

Which, needless to say, was going to cost them both a fuckton of money.

"So, that old boy Woodruff feels that you still owe him one, does he, mate?" Eames said casually, though he felt an intense irritation begin to stir in his gut. He had a fairly decent idea what was about to be asked of him. "Still feeling butt-hurt over being cast aside for the more enchanting charms of Mr. Saito?"

"Apparently," Cobb sighed. "Listen, Eames, I know how you feel about returning to this. Or any sort of work. And I know that you're enjoying the fruits of your hard labor. If I didn't absolutely need your help –"

Eames silently drew a deep breath, knowing he was going to help his old friend no matter how he felt about it. Cobb looked drained suddenly, and Eames understood he wasn't pleased at having the peaceful life he'd made with his children disturbed.

"It's all right, Dominick. Tell me."

"Woodruff is so 'butt-hurt' as you say, that he is threatening to use all of his considerable powers to dig up the murder charges against me for Mal. And I know what you're going to say – you can't be tried twice for the same crime. When I laughingly threw his 'offer' back in his face, I was sure to point this out. However, Woodruff informed me that it would be as easy as breathing for him to arrange for me to be taken into custody and re-tried on the grounds of the first being a mistrial. He said that evidence in the forms of receipts, emails, transcripts and other documents have already been created, and that if I were to refuse – it will be distributed to the proper channels immediately."

"Is he bluffing?" Eames asked calmly. While part of it sounded like a bunch of rubbish to him, David Woodruff's power was nothing to be scoffed at. It would take a considerable amount of various resources to pull off what he was threatening Dom with, but – given that power that Woodruff held – it wouldn't prove to be much of a challenge for a man with time and money to burn.

"I really don't know. But, I don't want to find out." Cobb shrugged and met Eames' eyes again. "A few weeks of work. Handsome compensation for all involved – that means you, Eames. And on top of it, once and for all, my children and I will be left alone."

"Indeed. Not a bad lot." Eames sipped his drink, now regretfully watered down from the ice, and lifted an eyebrow. "And my role in this is what?"

"Well, you're a thief," Dom said bluntly. "And a master forger of identities."

"And these illustrious and finely honed skills of mine will be utilized in which ways?"

"The job is this." Dom leaned forward and braced his elbows on his lap, his hands folding. "David Woodruff is willing to forget about Proclus and Fischer-Morrow if I can help him obtain a new company he's been eyeing. The company is called Nichols Advertising, based in New York."

"What the hell does the CEO of an engineering conglomerate want with a privately owned advertising company?" Eames asked, mystified.

"Well, being that Cobol is an extremely questionable organization, it's difficult to identify the thing that they _actually_ do," Cobb explained, "so I assume it is much simpler for them to call themselves 'engineers' and use that as a front while they dip their paws into other avenues. As for the Nichols business, well, they're not entirely squeaky clean themselves. They _are_ a legit, operating advertising agency, and though privately owned, are one of the top firms in the city, actually."

"So what sort of dirty dealings are the naughty, naughty employees at Nichols' involved in after hours?" Eames asked.

"Actually, none. From what Woodruff told me, the employees have absolutely no knowledge of what the CEO, one Mr. Andrew Beauford Nichols, is really involved in. They are solely on the legit advertising side of things, and Mr. Nichols has a small team of folks – operating under the guise of an 'executive board' – to handle the rest."

"And what's the scope of this little mission?"

"The scope is, Woodruff wants what Nichols has. He doesn't like Nichols exactly, but he wants the advertising firm transferred to his control, as he thinks it's a perfect front. He wants Nichols' backers and the people he's doing his real business with to come on board with Cobol. He feels this can be done with a seamless transition of management, from Nichols Advertising to Cobol Engineering – he said they would organize some sort of sub-company to control the advertising aspect of things, as having an 'engineering' firm control and advertising one would be, frankly, weird. And then everything else that Nichols has comes with him."

"Poor old chap," Eames said, referencing Nichols. It was amusing to him, but he also felt a little pang of sympathy for the man. "The old boy stands to lose absolutely everything, doesn't he? Have it all stolen right from under his nose."

"Well, Woodruff has graciously agreed to let Nichols keep the fortune he's amassed over the years. He won't rob him of what is his, personally. That's where you come in."

"What, I'm supposed to appear to Nichols as the ghost of Christmas Past and tell him to sell his firm?" Eames asked sarcastically.

"No. You are going to forge an identity, that of Nichols' long-lost nephew, to act as ad interim CEO of Nichols Advertising while your 'uncle' takes a long vacation at his winter home in St. Thomas. And that vacation will ultimately result in his decision to retire and sell off Nichols Advertising."

"_Long-lost nephew?_" Eames repeated incredulously, barking out a laugh. "Are you shitting me, mate? How far-fetched can you possibly go?"

Cobb smiled patiently. "Eames, your lack of confidence in me is offensive. In doing extensive research on the man, it appears that he is a widower with no children. His parents died over forty years ago, and he lost touch with his only sibling, a brother, about twenty-five years ago. That brother is dead."

"But he had a son," Eames filled in. A naughty smirk tugged at his mouth. "A son who was determined to take up the family name, right wrongs, connect missing links, step up as heir to the Nichols empire and take what is rightfully his. Am I getting warmer?"

Cobb laughed. "Something like that. So, anyway – we are going to begin by brokering the initial contact between you two. Mr. Nichols is a sentimental man, he'll welcome you with open arms. Then, we'll implant this idea into Mr. Nichols' mind. Soon enough, he'll come to see you as the son he never had, and let you know he's decided to take a long vacation during which he intends to reflect on his life, and in the meantime, your sparkling resume and experience will leave him with the utmost confidence that putting you in charge while he's away is the only option." He smiled.

Eames eyed him. "That sounds like it could work," Eames said with slightly grudging admiration for Cobb's thoroughness. "What's the timeframe?"

"It's early September now. I'd like to have you in New York around Thanksgiving."

"Am I going to have to learn an atrocious East Coast accent?" Eames asked with a sigh. "I'm still trying to shake the Irish one I had to adopt a couple of years ago."

Cobb shook his head, grinning. "No, Eames. As it happens, Nichols and his family are all British. Hailing from just outside London, although his brother took up residence in Leeds for many years, so presumably, his 'son' would have grown up there."

"Oh, I'm not doing any bloody Yorkshire accent," Eames said firmly, aghast. He gave Cobb a charming smile. "It's posh London for me or nothing at all, mate."

"Whatever." Cobb waved a hand. "I don't care how you speak, as long as this job gets done." He extended his hand and looked Eames in the eye. "Can I count on you?"

It was only a second of hesitation before Eames reached out and firmly clasped Dom's hand. "Absolutely." They shook.

"Now." Eames rose to his feet and grinned at his friend. "I hope you're not rushing off. I would love to show you Mombasa. In fact, I insist on it."

* * *

They ended up at a local pub, run by a couple of fellows from South Africa that Eames had come to know well and appreciate. Over several more extremely potent _caipirinhas_, Dom began to loosen up and Eames warmed to the reveal of his old buddy. He had felt that there had been a slightly troubled air about Dominick when he'd first seen him; then again, if Eames were in Cobb's shoes, having his family threatened again by ghosts that refused to leave would be a very difficult thing to weather.

"So, what you have been keeping busy with, Mr. Eames?" Dom asked. "It's been a little while, hasn't it?"

"Indeed it has, mate," Eames replied. "Indeed it has. I have primarily been doing as much relaxation as possible, though it may amuse you to know that I have also been doing some work with some local groups that work with elephant and rhino conservations."

Eames had expected a surprised lifting of the eyebrows, or perhaps even a skeptical chuckle, but he was slightly taken aback when Dom outright spit a mouthful of his drink out onto the bar in a most ungraceful manner.

"You?" Dom asked. "Getting involved with animal rights activists?" He coughed.

Eames pounded him on the back, admittedly a tad harder than was necessary to assist someone in clearing their lungs. "That's right," he said, a little defensively. "I am. My role is infiltrating poachers' clubs." He smiled. "It's not the actual conservationists that I'm directly working with. I work with what I can only describe as an anti-poaching militia. They seek out the poachers and punish them, sometimes in accordance with the law." He paused for a swallow of his drink. "And sometimes not."

"Ah," Dom said with a knowing smile. "It all makes sense now."

"Yes. African poachers are only too eager to team up with a wealthy Brit who has no issue with turning his face from the law and willing to share the contents of said deep pockets."

"How very noble of you, Eames," Dom said, nodding. "I mean that genuinely."

"Thank you, mate." Eames paused. "I realize that nobility generally goes against the usual code of ethics where thieves are concerned, but, living here has opened my eyes to the atrocities inflicted on innocent and frankly magnificent creatures such as them." He recalled his first encounter with a dismembered, brutalized corpse of a young male elephant, slaughtered for the precious ivory tusks he bore proudly, and a wave of dismay flowed through him. He had never been one to be particularly concerned about the rights of others, least of all animals, but over the past couple of years, he'd changed. And he enjoyed busting poachers almost as much as the militia he worked with. "It's been a pleasure and an honor to be involved with these groups. And highly satisfying."

"Excellent," Dom said. "And on the lady front? I noticed your villa was, astonishingly, empty."

"Ah." Eames chuckled. "Yes. My work keeps me rather busy, as you can imagine. There was a lovely young lady in my life a few months' past, a beautiful girl originally from Nigeria who had come here to work in her family's restaurant business, but after a month of courting, her father realized that I was the one spending so much time with his daughter and the one keeping her from her responsibilities at the restaurant, and, well, he wasn't much pleased that I was white and did not even have the courtesy of at least being from South Africa. So he promptly ended things."

"Shame," Dom said with a smile. "Well, perhaps you'll find someone to make your time in New York more enjoyable. There are plenty of lovely ladies in that charming city."

"Ah, yes." Eames nodded. "I believe the last time I was in that city was about a year and a half following the September eleventh attacks, after I left the Royal Marines." He paused musingly. It had been about ten years since he had been to that bustling metropolis. "I suppose I'm looking forward to returning, in a general sense. It gets bloody cold there, old boy, and as you can see, I'm rather accustomed to the sun and warmth of this paradise." His white teeth flashed beautifully against his deeply tanned skin. "I fear once the temperature hits sixty degrees, I'll need a parka."

Dom grinned and rolled his eyes. "There goes that melodramatic streak of yours again, Eames. Let's see – Christmas and New Years' in the greatest city in the world. I'm going to say that your life doesn't suck." He finished his drink and signaled for another. "And let's not forget, I'm sure that Mr. Nichols will be all too willing to let his nephew stay in his palatial penthouse apartment in Manhattan. You can crank the heat as high as it will go, and you'll be just fine, I assure you."

"Indeed." Eames chuckled. "Now. Tell me about everyone else. I've kept in touch with Yusuf, of course. The man is the yin to my yang, the north to my south, and all that bloody rubbish. Under that soft-spoken and peacefully Buddhist exterior, he's my kindred spirit. I want to know about pretty little Ariadne and the insufferably boring Mr. Collins." He said the last bit with a smile, in a teasing tone; he bore Arthur no ill will beyond his insistence at taking life entirely too seriously. Their relationship was infamous for its playful acidity. Well, Eames thought, playful on his part. He got the feeling that Arthur meant to really land some of the verbal jabs he took when Eames was really getting his goat.

"Well, it should be no surprise that Arthur and Ariadne identified their 'kindred spirits', as you say, in one another, and have since fallen head over heels in love with each other."

"You're joking," Eames said.

"I am not," Dom replied with a smile.

"Brilliant little Ariadne and dull-as-dry-toast Arthur Collins?" Eames said, astonished. He shook his head. "Wonders truly never cease. Good for them."

"They're engaged," Dom added. "I believe the wedding will be in May. Rumor has it you're on the guest list."

"You don't say," Eames said. He grinned and clapped his hands together as he simultaneously tapped his feet on the floor. "I'm awash in excitement. I know just the perfect wedding gift to give them. Well, Arthur, really. A book on tantric sex should be just the thing."

"I am certain that Arthur will be amused," Dom said wryly.

"And I am certain the poor lad needs all the help he can get. I suppose it really is for Ariadne; she might thank me the later on. If he does it correctly." He pulled the straw out of his glass and downed the rest of his drink. "Hm. Arthur, Ariadne. Love must be in the air. Yusuf, even, tells me he has as of late become completely enraptured by the charms of a beautiful Indian girl called Nita. He sent me a photograph, and she looks like Freida Pinto. Stunning. So who's keeping old Cobbsie warm at night?"

"No one," Dom said pointedly. "There can be no one after Mal." He glanced out the window.

"I apologize for sounding flippant, mate," Eames said quietly. "I know how much you loved her."

Dom sighed and then glanced back at Eames, with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I did. Very much." He cleared his throat. "Well, my friend. We have all either loved and lost, or are loving now. Except for you. Perhaps that's what's missing from your life."

"Oh, no." Eames shook his head, as if repulsed by the very thought. "No, thank you. Very much. I'm quite content with my life, fighting the bad guys and raking in the cash. Sleeping as late as I want and with whom I want, when I want, with no one to tell me otherwise." He paused as he remembered his months-long dry spell. "Well, in theory, anyway. My bed's been empty as of late, but that has purely been by choice and circumstance, and nothing else. I like keeping my options open."

"Uh-huh." Dom grinned again, and this time, it was genuine. "Well, Eames, just for your information, New York at Christmastime exceeds even Paris in terms of romance, and you might just be surprised at what you find."

"Is that a threat?" Eames asked. "I find that offensive. Moreover, nothing and nowhere is as romantic as Paris. That's why I stay far from it."

"Oh, dear." Dom shook his head. He reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "Some things never change. However, in your case, I hope they do."

"Heaven help her, then," Eames said, lifting his glass and clinking it to Dom's. "Here's to New York at Christmastime and helping one naughty bloke steal from another for an outrageous sum of money."

"And love," Dom added with a teasing grin and a wink.

"If by love you mean copious amounts of mind-blowing and morally questionable sex, then yes. To that. Cheers, darling."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OK! So! It appears that I was a complete airhead on the last chapter and totally forgot to shout out my girl Nik216 for letting me use Arthur's last name as Collins (don't know about you but after her Inception fics, Arthur will forever be a "Collins" to me) and also a little nod to her character Nita. A couple more shoutouts this chapter to Nik and my other homegirl Mals86, but only you two will be able to tell what they are. :-) **

**So here we meet our leading lady! Enjoy.**

**Chapter 2**

_Buzz_.

Diana di Natale jumped a foot in her desk chair as her cell phone vibrated. She'd been so consumed with her work that she had completely drowned out all the other noise in the busy office area. She glanced down to see who was calling, and then sighed inwardly at the identification. Reluctantly she reached for the phone, knowing that it would be yet another new escapade to add to her nonexistent novel of "Things My Ex-Husband Does That Make Me Want to Kill Him".

"Yes, Michael," she said evenly by way of greeting, glancing out the window. Her desk was in a two-person cubicle pressed against the windows on the east-facing side of the building, and it gave her a stupendous look at the Upper East Side. Her cubicle mate, whose desk faced Diana's and was separated by a wall, immediately rose to her feet and glowered at her.

Diana impatiently waved off her best friend, Nancy Watkins. The pretty, petite African-American girl pursed her lips and lifted an eyebrow, radiating attitude, and sat back down. It was no secret that Nancy found Michael to be repugnant and, in her words, "the highest caliber asshole."

"Dee, babe," Michael's voice boomed in her ear, and Diana winced and lowered the volume on her phone for the dual purpose of preserving her hearing and also preventing Nancy from eavesdropping which she was prone to doing whenever Michael called. "Got some bad news."

_Of course you do._ "What is it now, Michael?"

"Jessa got tickets to this thing upstate. Some bed and breakfast deal thing. A use-it-or-lose-it type thing. You know how it is. Gotta use it, or lose it."

"Thanks," Diana said sarcastically. "Because that was unclear. What I am unclear about is exactly what this has to do with me."

"Well, it's this weekend. I know I was supposed to have Chris, but, well –"

"Use it or lose it. Yeah, yeah. I get it." Diana closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose against the first thrums of a bitch of a headache – nay, a migraine – that she could feel building behind her eyes. It was a familiar pounding, one that could only be induced by the irresponsible shenanigans of her ex.

Michael Bonaventura was an attorney with a successful law firm downtown and had been the love of her life from the age of sixteen until twenty-seven. They'd been high-school sweethearts, gotten married right after college, had a daughter a couple years later, and wound up divorced four years after that; Michael had always had a bad habit of misunderstanding what the term "monogamous" had meant. Diana had finally had enough when she'd caught him in _their_ bed with his assistant. Whom he was now dating, and had been for the past three years. The fact that he didn't even try to downplay their relationship now at all in front of Diana was slightly offensive, but she was long over Michael.

She only wanted him to be a good father to their seven-year-old daughter, Christina. And he failed spectacularly at that, over and over and over.

"So are you gonna tell her?" Diana demanded. "Or is it on _me_ to be the one who has to break her heart _and_ cover for your ass yet again?"

"Dee, babe," Michael said wheedlingly. "You can handle it for me. Just tell her I'm working or something. You know I hate hearing Chrissy cry."

"Then stop making her cry!" Diana hissed angrily, and Nancy popped up like a prairie dog again. "I'm about done, Michael. I'm not covering for you anymore. I'm going to tell her that the reason why Daddy is bailing on her yet again is because he found something _better_ to do."

"Dee, c'mon," Michael said. "I think you're being a little dramatic. Chris is really smart. She'll understand."

"You have no idea how smart Christina is," Diana replied sharply. "Smart enough to see right through all the bullshit – all _your _bullshit – and understand she's not on her father's short list of priorities. Have fun upstate with _Jessa_, Michael." She ended the call, fervently wishing she'd been on her desk phone so she could have the satisfaction of slamming it down in his ear.

"Trouble in paradise?" Nancy's sweet and raspy voice floated over the cubicle wall. "I know I'm reachin' here, but, let me guess – he's standing Chris up. Again."

"Yes," Diana replied angrily. "He is."

"For the bleach blonde chick you found three-and-a-half years ago in _your_ bed."

"That's the one," Diana said tightly. "And thanks again for pointing it out."

Nancy's head popped up over the wall again, and this time she had a sympathetic smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Dee. I think it's really shitty that he puts you in these sorts of positions. But I think that Christina is pretty mature for her age. I think she'll understand that it's not your fault."

"She will," Diana said with a sigh, reaching up to rub her tired green-brown eyes. "And she does. It's not that. I mean…she's seven. Every little girl needs her father."

"In a perfect world," Nancy replied, a little defensively, and Diana recalled that Nancy had been raised solely by her mother. "But sometimes mothers can wear the father role even better than the father."

"You're right," Diana said. "Sorry, Nancy – I didn't mean to imply –"

Nancy waved her hand. "Forgotten. Look. I need an afternoon caffeine fix." She glanced down at the delicate gold watch encircling her left wrist, setting off her light caramel complexion perfectly. "What do you say we grab a latte before the 'big announcement' at three?" She fixed her fingers like quotation marks and took on a dramatic tone; Diana had to laugh because today's announcement by the company CEO, Andrew Beauford Nichols, had been touted all week as huge news. No one had a clue what was going to be shared, not even the supervisors.

"I'm down for a latte, but I'm leaving right after. Chris has a doctor's appointment this afternoon. So you'll have to call me later and let me know what I missed."

"Probably that our bonuses are going to be at an all-time low. Someone's got to cover the CEO's and board's million-dollar bonuses, and it may as well be us peons," Nancy said sarcastically, then frowned with concern. "Is Chrissy okay, though?"

"She's got a little productive cough. It's probably just a cold, but I want to have bronchitis ruled out."

"Such a good mommy." Nancy grabbed her coat from the coat rack attached to their cubicle and shrugged it on. "C'mon. There's a pumpkin spice caramel latte with your name on it. My treat."

"Ah, the magic words." Diana rose from her seat and leaned back, her spine popping most pleasantly, and then reached for her black belted trench coat to throw on over her gray knee-length plaid pencil skirt, cream colored form-fitting sweater, and black heels. November was drawing to a close in New York, and it was chilly.

The two women raced for the elevator, tying scarves around their necks and slipping leather gloves onto their hands, and rode it down the twenty floors to the lobby of the Nichols Advertising building. As well as being best friends, they were both senior account executives in the marketing department of the large advertising firm. Diana's true passion wasn't what she did here, but it was a great job, and she'd been with the company for over ten years, beginning with an internship in college, and over the years she had gradually worked her way up the ladder. She now made enough money to afford a two-bedroom apartment in the Norwood neighborhood of the Bronx, and eschewed a car for public transportation. She could pay all her bills, fund her daughter's passion for dance, and even put some money in savings. All things considered, Diana provided a comfortable life for Christina, and her daughter was the center of her universe.

"So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Nancy asked as they hustled out into the gray, chilly afternoon. "We've been so busy today I forgot to ask."

"Oh," Diana said with a nod. "Yeah, I keep forgetting that's tomorrow. Mrs. Brenner will have us over like she always does, and Chris and I will make some sides and some dessert to take to her. Then we'll watch Elf together before we go home."

"You better not ever move," Nancy cautioned with a chuckle. "That lady will just die if you do."

Diana smiled at the thought of her next-door neighbor and surrogate mother. She had lost her real parents over fifteen years ago in a train crash while they had been vacationing in Europe. Since she had moved into her building after the divorce, the widowed older woman had taken Diana and Christina under her wing, and watched Christina on days she didn't have school so Diana didn't have to take any time off. As well, they shared Sunday evenings together with an early dinner, and Mrs. Brenner had invited them over as her guests on Thanksgiving each year since Diana had moved in. Which worked out nicely, as Mrs. Brenner's children rarely made it back for both Thanksgiving and Christmas and generally opted to visit for the latter, leaving the older woman all alone on the holiday.

And so, Diana knew that as usual, Mrs. Brenner would cook a six-pound turkey, and make her famous cornbread stuffing, yams, corn, rolls and mashed potatoes and gravy, while Diana would bring baked macaroni and cheese because it was Christina's favorite, green bean casserole, and a homemade from-scratch pumpkin pie. It was a merry little gathering that would end with a viewing of Elf around mugs of steaming hot chocolate and home-baked chocolate chip cookies, and that would kick off the Christmas season.

Thinking of Christmas made Diana sigh. It used to be her favorite holiday of the year, and she used to go all out by cramming as many holiday festivities into the month as possible. She used to be so into Christmas, in fact, that she would literally shed tears when December ended, so sad to see the holidays come and go.

But after her heart had been ripped out of her chest a handful of years ago, the glow for the holidays that had been inside was destroyed right along with the rest of it.

Now, she went through the motions of watching endless Christmas movies and television programs with Christina, baking scores of holiday treats, attending Christmas programs at school and special holiday dance recitals, picking out trees and decorating them, singing the carols at her piano with her daughter. She did all of these things, and she did them with an air of enthusiasm that she no longer felt. But she faked it for Christina. She knew that if her daughter were to ever see that her mother had no real Christmas spirit to speak of, it would break her heart.

"Earth to Dee," Nancy said loudly. "Where'd you go, homie? You zoned out there for a minute."

"Sorry," Diana hastened to apologize, reaching for the door to the coffee shop down the street and opening it for Nancy. "Just thinking about the holidays. So what's your plan? I assume you and Jerry will be together?"

"Yes," Nancy said with a happy sigh at the reference to her handsome, doting boyfriend. "We're going to my family first on Thursday, and then we'll go see his on Friday. You already know his mama has an attitude about splitting holidays and having to push Thanksgiving back to Friday when we're not even married, but, that's gonna happen sooner or later so she needs to start getting used to that."

"Oh?" Diana asked with a little teasing smile. "Going to happen sooner or later, huh? That's quite confident of you."

Nancy flashed her beautifully charming smile. "Yes. I have a feeling."

"And by feeling you mean..."

"He left his email open the other day, and I may or may not have gone through it and seen a conversation with a jeweler about designing my ring and wanting it ready before Christmas Eve."

"Nancy," Diana said in a hushed tone. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"You are damn straight about that one," Nancy replied, scanning the board over the counter with the menu. "I should be. Suffice it to say, though, I am not."

They placed their orders, and then sought out a two-person table next to the window to people-watch as they enjoyed their beverages. In no time at all a waitress brought over their orders, both in two enormous, funky cups with saucers and a small glass plate with a fluted edge that held an enormously gooey chocolate brownie that they were going to share.

"So," Nancy said, cutting the brownie in half and picking up her portion, "we still going shopping on Friday?"

Diana groaned. "I know I said I would go. But you seriously want to face all those shoppers? That early in the morning?"

"As long as this coffee shop is open that early, honey, hell yes," Nancy said firmly. "Have you seen the ads? There's a ton of stuff on sale at Bloomingdale's I have got to have. Early bird getting the worm and all."

"Is this all for you or are these Christmas gifts?" Diana asked skeptically, taking a bite of her brownie. She took a moment to thoroughly enjoy the extreme moistness of the cake, the thick creaminess of the chocolate frosting, and the crunch that the added white chocolate chips provided.

"Half and half," Nancy replied defensively.

"Well," Diana said grudgingly, "all right. I'll go. I probably get the majority of Chris's stuff taken care of."

"There you go!" Nancy said happily. "If you want, you can keep her stuff at my place so she won't find it. And then we can get together later on for a gift-wrapping party, break out a bottle of red wine – Italian vino just for you – and watch a cheesy Christmas movie on Hallmark or something."

"That sounds great," Diana replied with a smile. "The wine part, anyway, I guess. Let me know when you can fit me in. You're always so busy this time of year, and now you've got two families' worth of events to attend."

"It does get busy," Nancy admitted, "but it's _fun_. It's so much fun. I really love his family and he gets along with mine great. So it's like one big month-long party. Work sort of gets in the way." She fixed Diana with an earnest look, her warm brown eyes softening. "You really need to get back on the dating scene, Dee. It's been years."

"Get _back_ on the scene?" Diana replied with a chuckle. "That would imply that I've been _on_ the scene."

"Well, exactly," Nancy said exasperatedly. "You haven't even tried. Look, you might be fooling Christina but you're not fooling me. I know you used to love this time of year, and now you just don't."

"Christmas is like an unofficial Valentine's Day," Diana said flatly. "Everywhere you look, things are centered toward couples. From jewelry ads to movies. How many Hallmark movies are about finding love at Christmastime?"

"A lot," Nancy admitted.

"Exactly. This is a really romantic time of year – if you have someone special in your life. And if you don't, it's just a reminder of _that_ – you're all alone." She shrugged and sipped her latte. "So, I'd rather just focus on my daughter. She's still at an age where it's cool to believe in Santa. She still has all this enthusiasm for the shows and the baking and the crafts. And I'm doing all this for her – she makes the holidays worthwhile."

"I know," Nancy said, reaching across the table to pat Diana's hand. "I know. And I agree. But I think that love is the big thing that's missing in your life right now. I feel like you would see things differently if there was someone special."

"Probably," Diana agreed with a nod. "But I'm just not interested in finding out. I don't even know how to date, Nance. I'm pretty sure I would send whatever poor guy screaming into the night. I'm better off alone."

"I respectfully disagree," Nancy replied and primly sipped her coffee.

"I'm a thirty-year-old divorced single mother of a seven-year-old daughter," Diana said flatly. "In New York, of all places. Not a lot of takers. Who would willingly look for all this drama?"

"You are so dramatic," Nancy said with a roll of her eyes. "Listen. There are plenty of young divorced single mothers out there who have men in their lives. Not to mention, you're a catch."

"Oh, please," Diana said, waving her hand.

"You are. You're only thirty – that's super young. You look amazing, especially for having had a kid. You dress well, you take care of yourself. You have really nice hair."

Diana laughed and touched her long, wavy espresso locks self-consciously. "Uh, thanks, Nancy."

"Anyway, I'm not sitting here telling you these things to blow your head up. I'm trying to tell you that you have a lot going for you, and you're the sweetest person I've ever met. Any guy would be stupid not to see that."

"That's fine," Diana said, "and I appreciate you saying all that stuff. I really do. But the point is that I'm not interested in finding anyone. Men are more trouble than they're worth." She held up a hand to ward off Nancy's instantly stormy expression. "Except for Jerry, of course. He's great. If you can make another one of him, I'll be set."

"I don't want you lookin' at my man like that!" Nancy said teasingly. "Look. You can give up if you want. I'm not going to."

"Oh, you're going to find a guy for me?" Diana asked amusedly.

"Yes."

"Okay." Diana shook her head and polished off the last of her half of the brownie and downed the last delicious bit of her latte. "I've gotta go pick up Chris now. Have fun at the meeting."

"Okay," Nancy said with a heavy sigh, rising to her feet and bundling up. "I guess I should head back. Ew. I'll text you and let you know how much you _don't _need to look forward to your bonus this year."

"Bye." Diana pecked her cheeked, grabbed her purse, and bustled out into the chilly afternoon. She hailed a taxi, miraculously spotting an empty one nearing her on the street, and directed the driver to P.S. 6 Lillie D. Blake. She waited in the taxi, looking at the bright red front doors of the small school expectantly. After a while, the doors opened and a small , spindly little girl with glasses and mounds of unruly espresso hair walked down the steps.

As always, Diana felt an almost overwhelming surge of love at the sight of her daughter, and she hurried to climb out of the cab, a big smile on her face. She held out her hands as Christina's face lit up at the sight of her mother, and she picked up her pace to a trot until she reached her, and then Diana was hanging onto a jumble of little warm body, thick jacket, a bouncy backpack and the sweet scent of Christina's curls.

"Hey, bunny," Diana murmured against the top of Christina's head. "How was school?"

"Hi, Mommy," Christina replied, finally releasing her. "School was fine. I read my book in Literature while the other kids were reading out loud."

Diana knew that Christina meant she was reading her _chapter _book while her peers read aloud from an appropriately entry-level children's picture book. Christina had learned to read before kindergarten and was currently partway through _The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_ while the other children in her class were just learning how to string sentences and paragraphs together.

"Chrissy," Diana said a little chidingly. "You're supposed to pay attention in class. Didn't Mrs. Niemeyer care that you weren't?"

"No," Christina replied, climbing into the taxi. "She said it was okay since I was ahead of the other kids and that I'd be bored if I just kept sitting there."

"Oh. Well, okay then." Diana pulled the door shut behind her and directed the driver to the pediatrician she had brought Christina to since she was a baby. "How's your cough, bun?"

"It's okay," Christina replied. "I have coughed twenty-seven different times today. I know 'cause I counted."

"That's not good at all," Diana said with a frown. "Was it the yucky kind?"

Christina nodded sadly.

"Okay. Well, let's see what Dr. Giguere has to say about it. Then we can get you medicine if you need it, and I will make you a big bowl of chicken noodle soup tonight. And we can watch a movie."

"Promise?" Christina asked. "You won't be working on your laptop?"

"I promise I will not," Diana said firmly.

"Or arguing with Daddy?"

Diana paused. First of all, she hadn't been aware that Christina knew they were having problems, as she tried to argue with her ex-husband in as civil a manner as possible when Christina was around. Second, it reminded her that she was going to have to break the news about this weekend to her daughter at some point.

Now, however, was probably not the best time.

"No, babe," Diana said, raking a hand through Christina's curls. "Not gonna argue with Dad. Just me and you tonight, okay?"

"Okay." Christina leaned into her mother and Diana wrapped an arm around her. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she reached inside to pull it out, frowning absently at the thought that once again Michael had put her in a messed up situation to have to play the bad guy with Christina.

She glanced at her phone. It was a text from Nancy.

_Big announcement was that Nichols is going on "extended holiday" in St. Thomas. We got a new AD boss – his nephew. And he is GORGGGGG. OMG._

Diana smirked and typed back one-handed. _What happened to Jer-Bear? Methinks he won't be too happy to hear you ranting and raving over the new boss._

A moment later her phone vibrated again. _Jerry will be fine. But OMG THE NEPH. GIRL YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. _

Diana stifled a chuckle. _Guess I'll find out Monday, right?_ She waited patiently, and then received Nancy's reply.

_You will shit. Give Chrissy kisses. Bye._

Diana shook her head and tucked her phone in her pocket. She wondered what had caused Andrew Nichols to want to suddenly go on "extended holiday" – the man rarely ever took even a sick day, although he almost never showed his face among the employees. It was a very rare occasion that anyone ever even saw him once a week, as he tended to arrive to the office very early and leave after everyone else had gone home. He never ate in the break room with them, he barely ever sent out emails – the emails were always sent by Mrs. Margaret Guthrie, his personal secretary who practically ran the damn business in his stead. So for Nichols to be leaving the building, leaving the city for an unspecified amount of time was just…weird.

She wondered vaguely about this nephew that was stepping up to fill in for him while he was gone. Not just about his apparent good looks, but as a manager how he'd be. She doubted he would be very dynamic, if he was related to Andrew Beauford Nichols.

_Just more of the same,_ she thought, leaning her head back against the leather seat of the taxi and cuddling her daughter closer, who had dozed off. _Nothing special._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Bring on the cheesy fluff! Here's another one for you. I just can't get my Muse to shut up about these two...**

**Here, we have Eames' first afternoon. Anybody familiar with The Godfather? I'd say he got hit by the thunderbolt. And it's cheesy. And fluffy. **

**Chapter 3**

Eames was eternally grateful for the Yanks and their national Thanksgiving holiday, being that it meant two whole days off work, allowing him more time to settle in before fully assuming his new ad interim CEO role at Nichols Advertising.

After the almost insultingly easy project of planting the idea into Mr. Nichols' head to take an extended leave and turn over the company in his absence to his charming, dashing, and devilishly handsome long-lost nephew Liam, Eames had spent a month with the man, who had been traveling in London for a month for "business" – just which business the travel was for, Eames wasn't sure – using that time to get to know him and establish their relationship before accompanying Mr. Nichols on his private jet back to his home and office in New York, landing the week prior to Thanksgiving. As predicted, Mr. Nichols insisted that Eames make himself at home, seeing as how the older man planned to leave for St. Thomas on Thanksgiving day, so Eames settled comfortably into Mr. Nichols' penthouse that was indeed, in Cobbs' words, palatial.

After showing Eames around the place and introducing him to the housekeeper and butler, an elegant, refined man in his sixties called William, Mr. Nichols had set Eames to the task of looking over the past years' files – earnings, sales reports, client contracts – from home on Monday and Tuesday. He told Eames that he had some final loose ends to tie up in the office which would take a couple of days, and that he would like Eames to join him at the office Wednesday afternoon for the announcement of his leave.

Eames had been only too glad to pad about the penthouse in a terry robe and boxer shorts, sipping coffee and mulling over reports while his "uncle" was at the office. He'd also spent some of the "family money" – a little extra perk that Eames had been sure to slip into Nichols' specially crafted dream cocktail – on getting several new handsome suits made for himself. While Eames preferred to dress in the fashion of a late 1960s-era spy, Cobbs had insisted that the nephew of a multi-millionaire would be more into designer suits and fine Italian leather shoes and less into polyester and clashing colors.

So be it, Eames had shrugged. He tossed in a few pairs of designer knickers for himself as well as shoes, socks, tie pins, cuff links, and handkerchiefs. He enjoyed the shopping, especially since it was on someone else's dime and didn't crack into his own personally amassed fortune.

"A right proper gent," he'd muttered to himself while getting his suits tailored in one of very uppity men's boutiques in downtown Manhattan. "Right proper gent, indeed."

He'd been a little surprised at how simple it had been to slip right into Nichols' life like he'd always been there. He wondered if subconsciously Nichols was a lonely man; he'd had a wife that he'd been married to for twenty-five years before ovarian cancer had claimed her. Perhaps that horrible illness was what had prevented them from being able to have children themselves. Either way, Nichols doted on him like a father, and Eames felt a teeny twinge of guilt. He seemed like a good man; but he was up to shady dealings behind closed doors. Further research over the past couple of months had showed that Nichols had financially supported an emerging research group overseas that dabbled in unethical genetic testing, paying mothers in third-world countries for their eggs, unborn fetuses, and in some cases, still-born babies. They sold their results on the black market, and had secretly paired with at least four globally renowned pharmaceutical companies. Now that this group was up and running, as an investor, Nichols was getting a gloriously huge kickback with a little something extra on the side to look the other way. The very notion of what this research company was into turned Eames' stomach.

Whether the man actually knew what this company did remained a mystery to Eames, but regardless – he backed them. From what Eames knew, this company was also reaching out for animals, including rare breeds and endangered species, and rumor had it that they were looking to begin trying to create new species of animals, and then perhaps even graduate to splicing human and animal genetic material.

He mused to himself that once they handed off Nichols and all his holdings to Cobol, perhaps he could team up with his militia friends to stop them. And then further piss off Cobol.

The thought made him smile.

On Wednesday afternoon, he had put on one of his fancy new suits, leaving the tie behind, and entered the Nichols' building through the back entrance. He'd come in during the lunch hour, when most of the associates were out. His uncle had immediately hustled him into his office, as though eager to prevent anyone from seeing him, and they'd had a gourmet lunch in his office. Eames had gotten to meet one Mrs. Margaret Guthrie, whom Uncle Andrew had introduced as his personal assistant, but Eames instantly recognized her as the real boss of the company.

The woman, in her late fifties, was sharp as a tack, yet very kind and somewhat motherly. He had been sure lavish all of his charms and extravagant manners on her, praising her with flowery words of gratitude and affection, especially her lovely bright blue eyes, and the woman had fluttered and blushed, and then practically fainted when Eames had kissed the back of her hand.

"Oh, you English gentlemen," she'd said, waving a hand in the air and fanning herself. "You always know just what to say to a lady."

"The words are not difficult when the subject is as lovely as you," Eames had told her. He wasn't really faking it, either. He had exceptionally good radar when it came to reading people, and this woman was devoted to her last drop to the business – the legitimate one. Her high six-figure salary probably didn't hurt, either, but she seemed to really care about the company and its few hundred employees, and even her crotchety old boss in a way.

"Oh, stop," she had said, smiling brightly at him.

"I would love to, darling, but the sight of that dimple makes it exceedingly difficult. I find I want to say things to you for an eternity that will have you displaying that lovely dimple forevermore."

Eames knew he was laying it on extra-thick, but he was amused, and he enjoyed making the woman seem so pleased. He wondered what sort of a man "Uncle Andrew" was to work for, and determined that he would strive to be the exact opposite.

"Well, now, going over this afternoon," Margaret went on. "Mr. Nichols will say a few words to discuss his extended trip, and then we'd like you to introduce yourself, say a few words about your past experience, and then greet the employees."

"Don't see why he needs to do all that," Mr. Nichols said grumpily from behind a forkful of chicken carbonara. "It's enough the boy shows his face. I don't see why he needs to go around and shake hands like a politician."

"Oh, you're right, sir," Margaret said immediately, folding her hands and glancing down at her feet. "I hadn't thought of that. I only thought it might be nice for everyone to get to know –"

"Well, don't think," Mr. Nichols said abruptly.

Eames wiped his mouth on his linen napkin. "Dear uncle," he said. "I feel that Mrs. Guthrie here might be onto something. Correct me if I'm wrong, love, but I believe what you were trying to say was, it would be good for me to follow in my uncle's illustrious footsteps and make a good impression on the employees, so that they might respect me as much as they do him." He turned to Nichols, noting with satisfaction that both of them were hanging onto his every word. "After all, Uncle, you've had to shake hands once or twice, haven't you? I'm sure that it meant the world to them to know that you care and it helped keep them loyal to you for so many years. I rather think it's a good suggestion." He glanced at Mrs. Guthrie. "Did I succinctly capture your idea, darling?"

"Why, yes," Mrs. Guthrie said hastily, though she looked a little uncertain. "I think that's what I was driving at."

"You think so?" Mr. Nichols glanced at him across the table. "All right, then. Do as you please if you feel it's best. Makes no difference to me."

Eames glanced at Mrs. Guthrie and winked, but he did feel a little bit bad that this was probably their normal way of doing business – she thought up good ideas, and he shot them down, only to support them later and take credit for them as his own.

"I've a bit of business to attend to this afternoon," Mr. Nichols announced, finishing off the last of his lunch. "An off-site meeting. But I shall return before the all-associates meeting this afternoon."

"Very well," Eames said with a nod.

"Make sure you go over some files beforehand. And if it won't be too obvious, have Mrs. Guthrie give you a tour of the building."

"I give you my word I will do everything in my power to conceal my true identity until such a time as it is deemed appropriate to share," Eames said with a smile, standing up to shake hands.

The older man cracked a rare, small smile. "Good to know, my boy." He patted Eames on the arm. "I'm off."

Eames walked Mr. Nichols to the door of his office and opened it for him, handing him his overcoat that had been hung on the carved oak coat rack next to the door. When he was gone, he turned to Mrs. Guthrie with an innocent smile.

"If it isn't too much of a favor to ask, love," he said, fixing her with a smile, "I should very much like that tour right now."

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Guthrie said, fluttering. "Um. Would you like to see the offices?"

Eames thought of the twenty-four story building, wondering what secrets lay in its recesses and all the small, dark, quiet corners. "I'd like to see each and every bit, darling." He then gave her a naughty, cheeky little grin. "Of the building, that is."

Mrs. Guthrie flushed bright red and Eames stifled a laugh. He really should stop and give the woman a break; not many women he encountered could handle his brand of charm and those that thought they could generally ended up on their backs below him. Since he had no intention of bedding this sweet, kindly woman, he should probably knock it down a notch or two.

_Must be the months-long dry spell coming out,_ he thought, following her out of the office. _Perhaps Cobbs was right, and I need to seek out affection in the form of the fairer sex, rather than my hand._

He requested that they start from the ground floor up, and Mrs. Guthrie gamely took him through each and every level of the building. There was a car-park below the building, nicely heated for those crazy New Yorkers who actually wanted to handle a vehicle in the city. The lobby was large and spacious, with ornate tiling and high, vaulted ceilings set forward before the bank of elevators that connected to the upper levels. The lobby itself reminded Eames of some grand train station, and it had both a little café serving deli sandwiches, salads, soups and pastries, and also a Starbucks.

"Very popular with the employees," Mrs. Guthrie commented, leading him toward the elevators. "And quite busy first thing in the morning. It helps to get here early, or hold out until morning break."

"Indeed," Eames agreed, following her. The next ten floors were dedicated art and copy departments, each one working on advertisements for various product families. Through his research Eames knew that Nichols Advertising dealt primarily in commercial advertising as well as local, but they had some jobs for companies that were based elsewhere in the country and in different markets. When they strolled across one floor, empty as all the graphic designers were out to lunch, Eames stopped next to one department, noting that the ads were centered on various agricultural businesses.

There were signs and ads for a university dairy store in Nebraska, boasting the finest ice cream in the state. There were plenty of Omaha Steaks ads to show off their many holiday specials. There were ads for Idaho potatoes, and one for something that had Eames quirking an eyebrow and leaning across the desk for a better look.

"Mind if I take a closer look?" Eames asked Mrs. Guthrie.

"Of course," she said, gesturing toward the print he was pointing to.

He picked it up, folding in his lips to hold back a shout of laughter. It was a mock-up of several different slogans for a company called "Select Sires".

He ran his eyes down the column of slogans. "_Offering the finest dairy and beef cattle semen for all your needs_," he read to himself. "_We proudly offer you the finest bull semen to help you manage all of your cattle's reproductive needs." _He glanced at the next few, noting that either the graphic designer was a cheeky little bugger or was growing uninspired with his material, or both. "_Premium wads to pump in your heifers_." He bit his lip, knowing that Mrs. Guthrie was watching him. He moved down to the next one. "_Who says milk is the only cow juice that can do a body good? We've got plenty of stock to prove that theory wrong_." "_Grade-A hand-pumped bull jizz to meet all your needs_." Eames cleared his throat several times, feeling his face growing hot from the effort of holding in his laughter. "_She says she wants a bull in the bedroom. Well, give that heifer just what she wants (we don't mean your wife) with our genetically superior high-quality spunk. Application is up to you but we recommend face and nipples for best results." _"_It takes a lot hands and mouths to pull this premium spunk out of our dairy and beef cattle, but you can rest assured that it's the highest, finest quality. We stand behind our work. Call us to schedule a personal, free consultation for an up-close hands-on demonstration of how we get the goods. You won't be disappointed. Satisfaction guaranteed._"

That was it. Eames set the mock-up down on the table as he gave into a coughing fit to cover his laughter. Mrs. Guthrie frowned and patted him on the back.

"Are you all right, Mr. Nichols?"

Eames choked and spluttered wordlessly, holding up a hand. "Yes, love," he managed. "I apologize. It must be quite dusty down here."

"What did you think of the work you looked at?" Mrs. Guthrie asked, beaming. "I couldn't quite see which one you were reading but our graphic designers and our copy writers are truly some of the most talented on the East Coast."

"I would agree," Eames said with a nod, fighting back the urge to laugh again. "Very talented, indeed." _Cheeky blighters._

They continued the tour, with floor eleven belonging to the mail department. As a youth, Eames had done his fair share of time in mail departments, striving to earn what little money he could there before honing his skills at thievery, which, needless to say, paid much better. And this was quite the nicest mail room he'd ever seen. For one thing, it wasn't located in the basement, as was just about every other mail room in the country. And it wasn't the dirty, grubby area filled with ex-convicts and work-releases and high-school dropouts. Mrs. Guthrie informed him that they had high-school and college interns working here, as well as some entry-level professionals who had trouble finding a job and were willing to work their way up the corporate ladder. But they followed the same requisite business dress code as everyone else, and the room was warm, clean, brightly lit and decorated in hues of white and cream.

Floors twelve to sixteen were dedicated to conference and meeting rooms. The twelfth, fourteenth and fifteenth floors were lined with meeting office rooms, some small, some larger, but the floors were nothing but rows and rows and meeting spaces. Each of these floors also smelled like a coffee shop; according to Mrs. Guthrie, no expense had been spared to outfit each floor of meeting space with a K-cup coffee maker as well as an espresso machine that had a milk steamer and could produce espressos, lattes and cappuccinos.

"In case people don't have the time to go down to Starbucks," Mrs. Guthrie had said.

The sixteenth floor was a very large auditorium-like space, and this was where Eames suspected the all-associates meetings took place.

"This is where we hold the all-associates meetings," Mrs. Guthrie said, echoing his thoughts. "And this is where you'll be this afternoon."

"Smashing," Eames replied.

He was curious to note that floors seventeen through nineteen were just empty cubicle space. "I'm not sure what we use these floors for right now, if anything," Mrs. Guthrie confessed. "Mr. Nichols mentioned the idea of possibly expanding or dedicating these areas to what he called 'other avenues' but, I'm not sure."

"Interesting," Eames murmured. He wondered if perhaps Nichols was already putting these floors to use down "other avenues", after-hours.

"So, now we've reached the twentieth floor, and after floor twenty-one, things get a little tighter in terms of security," Mrs. Guthrie explained. "Not that you have to worry. As the a.i. CEO, you can go wherever you like. I'll make you a copy of this." She held up a badge, one that she'd used to access each floor so far. "Each employee can come and go as they please between the basement where the garage is and the twentieth floor. Each of their badges has the same clearance. They also have access to floor twenty-two, which is the break room/lounge/café area. I'll take you up there shortly. But floors twenty-one, twenty-three and twenty-four are off limits to them. Floor twenty-one is our accounting department where payroll and finance are located. Floor twenty-three is for senior management and of course, you're familiar with the twenty-fourth floor since that's where we're located."

"Indeed," Eames replied, bobbing his head. "So, no open-door policy between management and associates?"

"Well," Mrs. Guthrie hedged. "I suppose an open-invite policy. Management prefers that associates schedule meetings on their email calendars rather than just pop up to their offices. Usually they have a great deal of meetings during the day, on either the meeting floors or off-site, or they're traveling for business. So, sometimes it can be difficult to pin them down."

"I see." Eames suspected that perhaps management was dealing entirely in just Nichols' business. He made a mental note to go through their desks and computers after-hours soon.

"So, anyway," Mrs. Guthrie continued brightly. "This is the twentieth floor. This is where our marketing, account execs, and editors sit."

Eames noticed that the department was beginning to fill back up with the post-lunch crowd. As he and Mrs. Guthrie were standing just off to the side of one of the doors that led into the open office space with rows of offices and cubicles everywhere, no one really paid them much mind.

"These guys are some of hardest working associates," Mrs. Guthrie was saying. "Everyone here of course works very hard. But these guys easily log in up to twenty extra hours outside the office, since they all have company laptops and, well, emails never seem to stop. They're our marketing and business contacts with firms and businesses across the country, sometimes even around the world."

Just then, as Eames was about to make sincere words of being impressed, he noticed some movement from the far corner office, on the east side. A door opened, and he could see into the office space that it was a two-person office, with a double cubicle against the window that was separated by a partition. Two young women emerged, bundling themselves into coats and scarves and gloves. They were both attractive at first glance, well-dressed and manicured. His eyes flitted over a caramel-skinned African-American woman, with a gorgeous smile, wide brown eyes and long ebony hair.

His eyes landed on her companion and he froze.

His first thought was that she was too lovely for earthly words, in a way that transcended physical beauty, though she was far from lacking in that area. Petite but shapely, he could tell even under a belted woolen coat, the young woman had long, rich, shiny brown hair in smooth bouncing waves, and a light golden-complexion that hinted at some sort of Mediterranean or southern European heritage. Her eyes were large and wide, and though she was too far away for him to make out their color, somehow they radiated sweetness, as though an inner light borne of a gentle soul shone of them and lit up her entire face. And that face was a sweet heart-shape, with a delicate chin, and a pair of pink, deliciously plump and soft-looking lips sat below a little button nose.

"Who in the bloody hell is that," he murmured, not intending to say it aloud. His eyes remained glued to the woman as she and her friend left the office, presumably heading toward the elevators that were just out the door across from where he was currently standing.

"Oh, that's Nancy Watkins and Diana di Natale," Mrs. Guthrie said brightly. Eames nodded slowly; it didn't take a genius to figure out who was who. _Di Natale._ It was Italian. _She_ was Italian, or at least part. "They're our two senior account executives. They've each been with Nichols for a decade, starting as interns, and they're amazing at what they do. Talk about hard-working. They usually take a late lunch or eat at their desks, so I imagine they're leaving for a little afternoon caffeine run."

"Is that right," Eames said absently, still looking in the direction the two women had gone, even though they had long since made their exit. He tilted his nose and sniffed delicately. It might have been his imagination, probably was, but he felt like he could _smell_ her, a sweet fragrance that lifted in the air. His rational mind accepted two points, one being that the likelihood that he could smell her from this distance was low, and that what he was smelling could easily have been anyone else in the room, or even her companion. But something in his gut stubbornly held onto the notion that the light, sweet and slightly spicy scent in the air belonged to her.

_Diana._

She and her coworker had left without even a glance in their direction, so his appearance later on would be something of a surprise to them both, but he knew he was going to be sure to seek her out in the audience.

Mrs. Guthrie took him through the rest of the tour and he was just mentally agile enough to keep up and make the proper responses when necessary. They returned to the twenty-fourth floor and Mrs. Guthrie left him to look over the files and paperwork his "uncle" had requested.

Sitting at the heavy oak desk, Eames was surprised to find that he could not concentrate on his work at all; but instead, his mind kept wandering back to the lovely face that he'd seen an hour ago, one that simply radiated sweetness. He could not stop thinking of it, of her, and realized he had at least a month to get to know the owner of that face a little better. He paused in surprise at himself again, realizing that last part had very little to do with anything sexual.

He suddenly felt very strange.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaand here's another one, because I already had it partially written and decided, WTH. Eames and Diana meet. :-) Review, and stuff.**

**Chapter 4**

Monday mornings, especially after a long holiday weekend, were always hectic.

Diana rose at five-thirty, allowing herself a little quiet time to caffeinate and eat her breakfast before she had to get Christina up and ready for school, which in and of itself was generally a simple task as Christina was methodical about picking out her clothing and shoes the night before and making sure her lunch was packed. Which she insisted on doing herself, with Diana's supervision, of course.

Diana poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on the sofa, leaving the lights in the living room off. She liked to sit in the darkness with only the light from the street lamps outside to illuminate the living room in the mornings. She mused idly that today was the second day of December, and that Christina would be wanting to pick out a Christmas tree soon. They usually made a "thing" out of it – they would pick the tree out in the late afternoon of the first Saturday of December, and then lug it home on the subway or tied to the top of a taxi. Diana would cook spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and invite Mrs. Brenner over to help with the decorations. They would play The Nutcracker on the CD player in the living room, and after dinner and the dishes, it was time to decorate.

Diana saved all of the ornaments that Christina made in school over the years, and couldn't help but take special parental pride in her daughter's artistic flair. The ornaments were crafted from basic materials of course, but Christina always drew her stars perfectly, cut straight along the edges, and never overused the glue or got gloppy smears of it everywhere but where it supposed to go.

_Hmm._ Diana found that she was actually looking forward to getting and decorating the tree this year. And she already had a bounty of gifts for Christina, thanks to her and Nancy's early bird Black Friday shopping trip. Clothes, books and toys – all waiting to be wrapped.

Diana finished her coffee and looked doubtfully at the plate holding a croissant on the coffee table. She had overeaten on Thanksgiving, and as Mrs. Brenner had loaded them up with giant Styrofoam takeout boxes filled with leftovers and a giant plastic bag full of home baked chocolate chip cookies and Diana had personally spent the last couple day gorging herself to the point that she thought she'd better subsist on broth and raw vegetables and hit the gym every night to make up for it.

_But I do need my strength,_ she thought with a shrug, and lifted the croissant to her mouth and took an enormous bite.

After her breakfast, she hopped in the shower to get ready for work. She blew her hair dry, coaxing her locks into big, smooth curls that added lots of volume. She was blessed with good Italian hair, thick and supple and shiny, and trims were only needed to adjust length as she simply didn't get split ends.

She applied light makeup, starting with plenty of moisturizer as her skin tended to dry out in the cold weather, and added a hint of shimmering brown eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara to her curled lashes to make her large round eyes pop. She finished up with some pale rose-tinted lip gloss and then set about to the task of getting dressed. She was reaching for the hem of her sleep T-shirt when she heard noises from Christina's room that signified the seven-year-old was up and moving around. Diana stepped back into her slippers and robe and went into the hallway, knocking lightly on Christina's door.

"Bun?" she called. "You up?"

"Yes, Mommy," she heard her daughter's voice faintly. "You can come in. If you want."

Diana bit her lip against the lackluster reply. Normally Christina loved school, though she was so smart that it sometimes became a bit of a challenge for her teachers to keep her from getting bored. But she had some little friends that she liked to see and play with at recess, and in general, she loved to be in an atmosphere where she could read all the books she wanted all day.

Diana pushed the door open, seeing Christina dressing herself in the dark brown corduroy skirt, red snowflake sweater and printed cream leggings she'd picked out the night before. She methodically brushed her brown curls three times until it crackled and then slipped a red headband into her hair.

She did all these things quietly, with an air of sadness that broke Diana's heart and infuriated her at the same time. Christina had been this way since Friday, when Diana had broken the news that her dad would not be coming to pick her up that afternoon as scheduled.

The memory of Christina's face falling made her wince. "How come?" Christina had asked in a tiny voice. "Doesn't he want to spend any time with me? I wanted to see him. And Nonni and Pop-Pop."

Michael's parents were the only living grandparents that Christina had, and the plan had been for Michael to take her with him to Brooklyn to see them at their ornate brownstone. Michael's parents always decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, and Christina had always been a part of that tradition.

"I know, bunny," Diana had said, stroking her daughter's soft curls. "I know. And you know what? I'm still gonna take you to see Nonni and Pop-Pop anyway, even though Daddy won't be there, and we're still gonna help them decorate. It's just that Daddy –" Diana broke off, hesitating and biting her lip. Christina looked at her with wide brown eyes, so sad, waiting.

"It's just that Daddy has to work," Diana had lied hoarsely. "You know he works so hard to give you everything you want. And this is a busy time of year for him."

Christina had proceeded to completely break her heart with her next words. "I like all the things that Daddy gives me. But I don't need them. I just want to spend time with him. I love my daddy but I don't think he knows it because he never sees me."

_You bastard,_ Diana had thought miserably, pulling Christina into her arms as the tears finally started flowing. She pictured him behind Jessa on the bed of the inn they were staying at upstate, pounding away at her in the fashion she had caught them in several years before. _I hope she cheats on you and gives you herpes._

Now, Christina finished dressing solemnly and looked at her mother. "How do I look, Mommy?"

"Just gorgeous, bun," Diana replied with a brightness she didn't quite feel. "How about some cereal?"

"Okay," Christina said. "That sounds good."

They went to the kitchen and Christina sat at the breakfast nook, drinking some orange juice while Diana popped a slice of bread into the toaster and poured her a bowl of cereal. She kept casting anxious looks toward her daughter, feeling herself grow more and more unsettled by Christina's sadness.

She poured a little milk over the top and quickly smeared some peanut butter on the slice of toast, cutting it diagonally just the way Christina liked. She carried her daughter's breakfast to the table, and then sat down across from her.

"Bun," she said after a little while, letting Christina get a few bites in. "I know you're still sad about not seeing Daddy this weekend. Right?"

Christina nodded as she chewed, looking down into her bowl.

"That's okay. But babe, you know your daddy loves you more than anything, right?" Diana tried to make herself sound genuine, but found it a little hard. She knew that Michael loved his daughter, without a doubt, but his actions said otherwise. He was constantly neglecting his duties as a father and had absolutely no clue the damage it was doing to Christina. "He would be with you all the time if he could." She paused, trying to fish for something good. "Hey, Christmas is this month! You know that your Dad loves to see you at Christmas and do all sorts of fun things with you."

Christina shrugged. "I don't think I care that it's Christmas."

Diana was flabbergasted. "What do you mean?" she asked. "You love Christmas. It's your favorite time of year. Don't you want to go to Bloomingdale's and tell Santa what you want? Or go to the parade? Or get the tree and decorate? We can get the tree this weekend."

"I guess," Christina said unenthusiastically. "I will if you want to."

"Babe, what's up?" Diana asked gently.

"Everything changed when you got divorced," Christina said in a small voice. "Now I never see Daddy. He's always working or with Jessa. And it just hurts my feelings that I don't get to see him."

Diana drew a deep breath, the next words tasting like sawdust in her mouth. "Jessa loves you too," she said. "They're both just so busy, baby, that it gets hard to find time. They both work so much."

"You work a lot," Christina pointed out. "And I see you all the time."

Diana made a big, sad gloopy frown on her face. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Christina said, looking up. Then she saw the silly expression on her mother's face, and a little smile appeared. "No, Mommy. That's the best thing."

Diana smiled at her daughter. "You're the best thing, bun. Listen. Finish up eating and then we gotta hit the road. Is your backpack all packed?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Don't forget to take your lunch out of the fridge, okay?"

"I won't."

"All right. I'm gonna go get dressed, and then we'll go."

Diana finished dressing at warp speed, noting that they should have been out the door fifteen minutes ago. But nothing else really mattered when her kid was feeling down in the dumps – because of her asshole ex-husband. Work, traffic, the entire world could grind to a halt and she wouldn't care about any of it until she made sure her child was okay.

Part of her wanted to throttle Michael, and rail against him and let him know exactly how big a piece of shit he was, but the other thought that maybe she ought to try to have a real talk with him, and let him know how much Christina noticed his absence, and how much she only wanted to spend time with him.

There was an old saying that went, "you catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar." Diana decided to see if it was true.

She quickly finished off with a couple spritzes of her favorite perfume, Coup de Foudre, and grabbed her coat and bag and she and Christina were off.

They got off at the stop for the nice little area where Christina's school was, and Diana walked her to the door, kneeling in front of her. "You're gonna be okay, bunny?" she asked.

Christina met her gaze, and then gave her a wide smile, carefully wrapping her arms around Diana's neck. "Yes. I love you, Mommy."

Diana blinked rapidly to hold back the tears, and kissed her daughter's cheek lightly, swiping off the lip gloss she'd left there. "Love you too, bun. Let's talk about Christmas plans tonight, okay?" She was relieved to see her daughter nod. "Okay. Better get going. Have a good day, and I'll see you after school."

"Bye, Mommy." Christina turned to head into the building and stopped to wave one mittened hand. Diana rose to her feet, and returned the wave, waiting until Christina was safely inside, then glanced at her watch and felt true panic set in as she raced back for the subway.

Despite her four-inch pumps and her knee-length, form-fitting cranberry wrap dress, Diana flew down the stairs into the subway station.

_Late I'm late I'm late,_ she chanted to herself, panicked, as she raced toward the packed train. Suddenly there was a hiss, the telltale sign that the doors were about to close and the train was going to depart. She spotted a man near the door closest to her.

"Hold the door!" she shouted, making her legs move faster.

The man turned toward her immediately, startled, and lunged for the door. He managed to press it back just as Diana leapt through the opening, grabbing the floor-to-ceiling metal stability bar with her gloved hand, and sighed in relief, closing her eyes momentarily. She caught her breath and leaned down to place her briefcase between her ankles, then righted herself.

"Thanks," she said, glancing quickly up at the man. Then she blinked and did a double-take so fast her neck ached. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling open.

His close-cropped, slightly spiky light brown was messily stylish. Thick, masculine, but neatly kempt eyebrows arched over large, wide pewter eyes. He had a strong, square jaw that was lightly dusted with stubble. His nose was straight and narrow and perfectly formed, and came to rest on his face above a pair of impossibly full, soft-looking lips. It was a perfectly sensual feature on an otherwise completely masculine face.

He was stunning.

Diana's heart began to race inside her chest and she felt herself growing flustered. _Oh, my God. My hair is probably crazy from the run. I'm hot. My face is probably red and blotchy. And is that _sweat_? Do I smell? I smell like I've been running through the Bronx. I smell like _the Bronx.

His eyes widened a little as they met hers, flickering quickly over her face before returning to her eyes. "No problem," he finally replied, and Diana's heart raced even faster.

_His voice. Jesus. He's British. And it's deep. And low. And – and rich and rough. Good God, my knees are weak. My knees are literally weak from the sound of his voice. What is this, a bad Hallmark movie?_

"Almost didn't make it," he added, with a little half-smile that further had a weakening effect on Diana's knee joints. "Glad I heard you."

"Me too," she said finally, realizing she was standing there gaping at him like an idiot. "Really, thank you. I would have been so, so late for work had you not heard me. And now is just not the time to be late for work."

"I can understand that," the young man replied. "Luckily, our stop is in just a couple more and it's not a long walk from the station. Hopefully yours is as manageable."

"Yeah, mine is in a couple stops, too," Diana said. "And the building isn't far at all. Just a block up and over." Then she paused. "Wait, did you say 'our stop'?"

"Oh, yes," the man said with a very charming grin, and Diana almost lost her breath for a moment. It was so wide, and symmetrical, and sincere. She hadn't seen a lot of smiles like that before. "I recognized you. You work at Nichols Advertising. I saw you last week."

"Oh," Diana repeated in surprise, and her heart began to pound. _We work at the same place. What._ "You, um, don't look familiar to me. I'm sorry. When did you start?"

"Just last week," he replied, and his melodic, proper accent flowed like music in her ears. "As a matter of fact, on Wednesday."

"Oh," Diana repeated in surprise. He had to be one of the brand new hires that had started mid-month. She'd thought that they'd all started right around the eleventh, though; it was odd for someone to begin at the very end of the month, unless he was an extra-special new hire. She knew most of the people that worked in the departments, and she _knew_ she would have remembered seeing this guy. Or at least, she knew she would have heard about him. "Which department are you in?"

"Ah, something I'm still trying to figure out myself," he said with a wry laugh. "Seems as though I'll be something of a jack of all trades." He reached under his open wool dress coat under which she noticed he was wearing a beautifully tailored suit and held up his ID badge, on a lanyard around his neck. He flashed it backwards, but Diana recognized the design on the back as being the same as on the badge in her satchel. "Today is my first day, actually. I was there last week to tour the building and meet some people. But today is my first real day."

"Oh, well." Diana held out her hand a little shyly, offering a smile of her own. "I'm Diana di Natale." He took her hand gently and gave it a firm shake, which she gave right back. "Welcome," she added.

"Liam," he supplied. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You're obviously not a native New Yorker," Diana joked. "Where are you from? What brings you here?"

"To the Bronx?" Liam asked, flashing a cheeky smile. He held up a white pastry bag. "A bribe of cookies, I'm afraid. I've been told that Mrs. Guthrie loves black-and-whites from the Bronx, and if I want to get on her good side, I'd do well to bring them to her in bountiful quantities."

"I mean here in the States," Diana said with a laugh. "But you're right about that. Who told you that?"

"Mrs. Guthrie," he answered, and they both laughed. "No, I'm from London," he went on, then lifted his eyebrow. "I'm sure you're shocked. And family brings me here."

"Do you have a background in advertising?" Diana asked curiously.

"I do," he said. "As I mentioned before, I'm a bit of a jack of all trades, actually. But I grew up with family in advertising. A family member started a company in England and I worked with him for a few years before deciding to branch off on my own. I always wanted to be Indiana Jones, so I went back to University to study archaeology and history and studied abroad while I got my Masters."

"And…family came calling again?" Diana asked. She hoped she wasn't being too nosy, but between the story and his voice, she was completely rapt.

"Something like that," he replied. "And how did you come to find employment at Nichols'? Your skill at your career precedes you."

"Oh," Diana said, blushing. "Thanks. Well, I studied marketing and advertising in school. I went to NYU. And I got an internship at Nichols my junior and senior years. Once I graduated they made me an offer, and I've been there ever since."

"And how do you like it?"

"I like it," Diana responded. "It's a great company." _For the most part._

"Touring it last week, it's quite lovely," Liam said. "Very well maintained. And quite the holiday feast for the eyes. I understand the company hires professional decorators. I've not seen so much festivity in one building before."

"And that's about all you'll get, too," Diana said before she could stop herself. She bit her lip. _Dammit._

Liam smiled and quirked an eyebrow at her. "What's that mean?"

"Ah," she hedged. "Well."

He leaned toward her in a mock-conspiratorial fashion and winked. "You can tell me, love. After all, I should know these things. Shouldn't I?"

Diana caught a whiff of his cologne and couldn't stop herself from breathing it in deeply. It was strange – but the only way she could think of to describe it was that it smelled the way his voice sounded. Rich, musky, spicy. Alluring.

"I guess you have a point," Diana murmured. She cleared her throat. "In my opinion, the company likes to look the part but not really play it."

"Interesting," Liam replied. "Go on."

"I'm not sure that employees are really treated in the same Christmas-y fashion that they dress the building up in," Diana said. "We work harder at this time of year than any other, but when holiday bonuses come out – they're abysmal. Don't get me wrong – I'm grateful to receive anything. But I know that the execs and the CEO get _huge_ bonuses for doing very little of the work. I mean, in our department, ten hours in the office is the norm and then a few more when you get home. The mail room guys go _insane _with how much work they have. The art department, the sales team – you name it, and everyone is just busting their _asses_." She blushed. "Excuse me."

"No, no," Liam said, looking positively intrigued by her words. "Please, continue. When you say abysmal…"

"Let's put it this way," Diana said. "Not to be inappropriate. I'm a senior account exec. I make six figures a year. This time of year I tend to put in twelve to fourteen hour days, in and out of the office. I have a seven-year-old to take care of on top of that. I run myself into the ground to meet sales targets, onboard new clients, maintain rapports. My bonuses usually amount to about a thousand dollars."

Liam's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. "A thousand dollars?"

"The mail room guys, for instance, are barely getting by on their normal salaries. They work just as hard as everyone else – I think they get twenty-five dollar gift cards to Starbucks."

"That's horrible," Liam said.

"Again," Diana said. "I'm not complaining. A thousand dollars is _more _than enough to give my daughter what she wants and needs for Christmas. And I'm fortunate because it's just the two of us. I don't need to spend a thousand dollars on my kid, and I can do things like donate and even save a little. But for the other people I know with bigger families…it's just not really an accurate depiction of how much the company 'appreciates' our _extremely_ hard work."

"I absolutely understand." Liam nodded vigorously. "And that's an awful shame."

The subway lurched to their stop, and Liam politely stood back to let Diana exit first. It felt odd to be walking to work with a stranger, essentially, but the employees of Nichols' Advertising, though they numbered into the hundreds, really functioned as a family. Diana also felt a measure of guilt at bad-mouthing the company to a brand new employee. _He probably wants to run for the hills now._

As they crossed the busy intersection, navigating through the thick throng of people on their way into their offices, Diana turned to look up at him. In her heels, he was still a few inches taller than she was. She smiled apologetically.

"I have to apologize, Liam. I really do. I sound so ungrateful. I should never have said anything. I just – I guess it's because I know that our bonus distribution is just around the corner, and I want to do something really special for my daughter this year, because, well, I'm afraid she's starting to lose her Christmas spirit, and that breaks my heart. So I'm letting that come out in what I've been talking about. This job, this company, is so much more than holiday bonuses. It's a _great_ company, and has taken good care of me for the last ten years, and I'm happy to be getting anything at all. Especially when so many people _don't_ have a job."

"I understand," Liam said with a nod. "I really do. And I don't think you're bad-mouthing the company. I think you're expressing your extremely valid opinions. It's not right that the execs of the company do a fraction of the work and collect the benefits. The reward should go to the people who earn it. And that would be a valid gripe no matter where you worked – at McDonalds or on Wall Street." He turned his outrageously charming smile on her. "I appreciate your honesty, actually, and in fact it's made me even more excited to work here. I can appreciate real employees with real thoughts and opinions. It's refreshing."

Diana smiled back. "If you say so."

"I do." As they walked up to the building, Diana fished her badge out of her satchel and waved it in front of the reader. The door beeped, and Liam waved his over the reader as she pulled open the door and held it for him.

"So try to cheer up a bit," he said teasingly. He gestured to the lobby, beautifully decorated for the holiday in ornaments and lights. "With this sort of festivity, you have to."

"I'll try," Diana replied with a laugh. She walked toward the elevator. "Which department are you again?"

Liam opened his mouth to reply, when all of a sudden the security guard's voice rang out.

"Mr. Nichols. Could you come back here?"

Instinctively Diana's head turned quickly, trying to locate the elderly CEO. _I thought he was gone as of last week? _She instantly felt a sense of naughty guilt wash over her, as though he'd somehow heard her complaints on the subway and up the street and was coming down to personally chastise her.

But to her surprise, it was Liam who answered him.

"Of course, mate. What seems to be the trouble?"

For a moment Diana didn't understand; and then slowly, comprehension and terror and humiliation fell over her like a blanket as she stared back at him, dumbfounded.

_Liam. Liam Nichols. _Nichols.

Nancy's words from their chat during their shopping trip on Friday came back to her with sudden clarity – "_It's his nephew. He's gorgeous, in case I forgot to mention that. Young. Kinda green for a CEO role, if you ask me… But he's lovely to look at. And listen to."_

Of all the days to go home early.

"Appears your badge isn't set up to read right, sir. Can I have ten minutes of your time, and we'll get this squared away? Won't bother you again, I promise."

"You're not bothering me now, Bert," Liam said with a laugh. He glanced back at Diana, and a warm smile crossed his face. "Might as well go on ahead. It was lovely to meet you, Miss di Natale. I hope to see you around."

Diana couldn't find the proper words to reply, as her brain seemed to have stopped functioning rationally. Instead she gaped at him, made a squeaking noise, and turned on her heel and ducked into the elevator.

She'd just met the new CEO. And badmouthed his company – right to his face.

_I'm so dead._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, lovelies! Hope you all had a wonderful holiday. I had lots of time with family and did lots of baking and ate way too much. Typical!**

**Chapter 5**

Nancy's slender, perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in surprise when she saw Diana hustle across the department toward their office, wrench open the door, hurry across the little room to their shared cubicle, and drop into her seat. She waited a moment for Diana to speak, then lifted herself out of her chair to lean over the partition, seeing Diana slumped over her desk, still in her coat with her satchel on her arm, her face buried in her hands.

"Ah, rough morning, Dee?" Nancy asked delicately.

Diana's head snapped up, her green-brown eyes flashing. "Yes, Nancy. You could say that. First my child tells me she doesn't care about Christmas anymore. Then she tells me how insignificant she feels in the eyes of her father, my ex. Then, I nearly miss the train this morning only to be saved by this incredibly gorgeous, sweet guy who held the door for me at the last second."

"Okay," Nancy said slowly. "Aside from the part about Chrissy – which is terrible, by the way, and we're gonna talk about that later – the part with the guy doesn't sound bad. That sounds awesome, actually. What is the problem, exactly?"

"He works here," Diana said evenly.

"Fantastic!" Nancy said brightly. "He's new, then? Because you and I know all the trolls that have worked here for the last decade."

"Yes," Diana said bitingly. "New. I did a bang-up job of giving a good first impression, too. Bad-mouthed the company to him."

"About the bonuses?" Nancy guessed. She flicked her wrist in a dismissive wave. "Well. I can't blame you there. They're awful."

"I bad-mouthed the company to the new CEO!" Diana hissed.

"Oh, shit." The words tumbled out of her mouth and Nancy clapped a hand to her face. "You met him? On the train?"

"He was in the Bronx picking up black-and-whites for Mrs. Guthrie," Diana said miserably. "And he didn't tell me his last name and was charmingly vague about the department he worked in. It wasn't until we got off the train, walked all the way into the building – me running my mouth the whole time, you understand – that I realized just who I was walking with when the security guard called him back because his badge wasn't set up to read properly at the entrance."

Nancy laughed out loud, then waved off Diana's incensed expression. "I'm not laughing at you, Dee. I'm just – wow. Only you – I swear. What did he say? Did he seem pissed?"

"No!" Diana exclaimed. "That's just it. He seemed completely blithe, like he was just fine with me saying all that stuff. Oh, my God, Nancy, I am so dead! He's going to call his uncle and tell him what I said, and then I'm gonna get a pink slip before lunch. Mark my words – security will be up here at some point before noon to escort me out."

"Oh, you're being dramatic," Nancy chided. "They'll wait at least until the end of the day so they can get one last full shift of work out of you." She laughed again at the new look of fury on Diana's face. "I kid, I kid. Try not to worry about it."

"I don't know anything about him," Diana pointed out. "He could be some little clone of his uncle, and I could very well be out of a job soon." She rose from her chair to finally shake out of her overcoat and hung it up on their shared coatrack. Losing her job at a time like this would be catastrophic. "Ugh. I am so dead and fired. He is so going to kick me out on my ass."

Nancy lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips teasingly. "Not in that dress, girlfriend. The way it hugs your ass? Have you been working out? It looks rounder."

"Nancy, shut up," Diana said desperately. "This is serious."

Nancy sighed. "Okay, okay," she said finally. "It's not the most awesome thing that you could have done. Maybe you should initiate a little CYA and send him an email to apologize."

"You don't just _email_ the CEO," Diana said, aghast.

"You do if you wanna keep your job," Nancy pointed out. She smiled slyly. "Or, you could just bring him a cup of coffee and then pretend to drop something on the floor and bend over and pick it up." She ducked, just barely missing the crumpled up sheet of paper that Diana threw at her forehead. "Seriously, there is nothing wrong with doing a little damage control and owning up to your 'mistake'. Just send him an email."

"Maybe," Diana said, unconvinced.

"But tell me." Nancy leaned her chin on the partition and cocked an eyebrow. "He is _gorgeous,_ isn't he?"

Diana sighed, recalling his face when he'd leaned toward her on the train, and the way he had called her "love." "Yes," she admitted. "He is."

"And his voice?" Nancy bit her lip and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Good Lord above."

"Yes," Diana repeated. "His voice is very, very nice. _He_ seemed very, very nice. But you just never know."

Nancy laughed again and finally took her seat. "Of all the days for you to go home early," she said, echoing Diana's thought from earlier. "Wow. I swear this shit can only happen to you. It's like a bad holiday movie or something. Now you guys will find love and live happily ever after."

"Don't joke," Diana said darkly. "Best case scenario is I keep my job and stay off his radar."

"You obviously didn't turn around in the mirror this morning," Nancy said. "That ass isn't staying off of _my_ radar." A moment later she yelped when the paper ball that Diana threw made satisfying contact against her nose. "Hey. That was a compliment."

"Much appreciated," Diana said dryly. "Now, I've got a job to try and save."

"And I've got a meeting to go to," Nancy announced, popping up again with her laptop and a file in her arms. "May the force be with you, darling."

Diana watched her leave the office, shutting the door behind her, then sighed and glanced out her window at the gray, blustery morning. Normally, this sort of weather at the start of December would lift her spirits and ignite the first sparks of her reluctant Christmas spirit, but she was much too worried and panicked to appreciate it.

She turned back to her laptop, and absently stretched out a hand, and then realized when her fist closed around air that she had been so out of her mind this morning that she hadn't even stopped for coffee. She grumbled to herself and opened her email program and then started up a new email.

_Mr. Nichols,_

_I want to apologize sincerely for my words this morning. I was completely out of line for my disrespectful comments about Nichols Advertising and I hope that I did not convey to you any sort of negative connotation of my attitude toward this company as whole. As I briefly expressed I've been experiencing some personal struggles, and I do know better than to bring them to work with me. I hope you understand it was from that place that I spoke, and not from an overall feeling of dissatisfaction with my employment here at Nichols. I am blessed to have this position and appreciate it fully and hope that you will come to understand and appreciate my work ethic in time. _

_Sincerely,_

_Diana di Natale_

She read over the email, feeling like perhaps she might have laid it on a bit thick, but she was genuinely fearful of losing her job due to her mouth. She had seen similar things happen in years past; some employees had opinions that had gone against what Mr. Nichols had personally wanted, and those employees voiced their utter disagreement with the CEO after losing the battles they were fighting for. And in due time, they also lost their jobs; Mr. Nichols did not take kindly to having any part of his company or ideas criticized. The firings were categorized under neat, tidy titles like "downsizing", "performance issues" and "general inability to meet work demands".

It was not beyond the company to retaliate, and as a privately owned business, they could do that.

Diana sighed and hit the "send" button and sat back in her chair. She'd done all she could at this point; now, she would have to sit back and wait, and in the meantime, try to get some work done. If today was to be her last day, or last week, she needed to do what was necessary to get her accounts transferred to Nancy temporarily until they hired her replacement. The thought made her cringe, but she realized that she had made her bed – unknowingly – and now, she had to lie in it. She spent the next several moments going over her accounts and making notes.

_Ding._

The soft chime from her computer signaling a new email went off, and though the noise was quiet and pleasant, it made Diana jump a foot in her chair and set her heart to thumping wildly as nerves flooded her body. _Don't be silly_, she told herself, willing her heart to slow down. _It's obviously not from him. You just sent the email. And you do have a large book of clients who send you no less than five hundred emails a day. Chill._

She took a deep breath and then blew it out slowly, and then with a slightly shaking hand reached forward to bring up the window with her open email to check the new message. When she saw who it was from, her mouth fell open and then went dry in shock, and her stomach leapt into her throat.

It was from Liam. _Mr. Nichols,_ _that is._

She quickly opened his message, and her surprise and relief and suspicion grew with every word she read.

_Diana,_

_Before I address your message, I want to apologize to you for our abrupt parting this morning – as you can imagine, being new, I was unaware that there was a problem with my badge, and I felt I was quite rude by having to end our chat so suddenly. _

_As well, I hope you aren't too annoyed with me that I neglected to mention I was stepping in for my uncle while he goes on holiday. I guess that was a bit of a naughty trick (though unintentional, I promise!), wasn't it?_

_As for your message – please don't apologize. There is nothing to be concerned about. I appreciate honesty, as I said, and I certainly hope you aren't worried about any company retaliation for simply voicing a valid opinion and, dare I say, a concern. That would simply be silly, and while I personally appreciate a few good hijinks myself from time to time, it is never at the expense of anyone's personal well-being._

_Anyway, it was wonderful to meet you, and I look forward to seeing you around soon._

_Enjoy your day._

_Liam_

Diana sat, stunned, as she reread his message four more times. She understood the words, but the message simply didn't make sense. How could anyone from the Nichols family be so understanding?

_It's a trick¸ _a little voice in her brain told her. _It's a test. Probably to see what else you'll say, what other ways you'll find to denigrate the company. Watch your ass, di Natale. _

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, gaping at his reply, but it was how Nancy found her when she breezed into the office some time later. She looked at Diana in alarm, hustled to her side of the desk to unceremoniously deposit her things on the surface, and then hurried to Diana's side.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, sounding truly distressed. "Really? Really? Over an honest comment about the bullshit bonuses here? That bastard! I'm quitting!"

"No," Diana managed. "No. No. Read." She pointed to the screen.

Nancy's eyes squinted as she hurriedly read the message, and then her head jerked back slightly as though she were surprised. "Wow," she said slowly. "So _not_ a bastard. This is a surprise." She smiled slyly. "'Wonderful to meet you', was it? 'Looking forward to seeing you around', is he?"

"I can't trust this," Diana said rapidly. "I mean, right? Like, this is a set-up. This is not how the Nichols business gets down. Like, this is a trap."

"Have you had coffee yet?" Nancy asked doubtfully. "Because you sound like a crazy person right now."

"No, I'm serious," Diana said urgently. "This is really – _weird. _Like, suspiciously so."

"You're weird," Nancy announced, then gestured toward the computer. "Which part of 'don't worry, I'm not gonna fire you' was unclear?" She shook her head, then reached for Diana's arm. "Come on, dearie. You are in serious need of caffeine."

Diana let Nancy lead her out of their office, and realized she _did_ sound a little nuts. But as she glanced backward at her computer, she couldn't help a feeling of amazement for and sincere gratitude toward the new CEO.

* * *

The day improved rapidly, along with Diana's mood. Though it was Monday, which just automatically meant it sucked, her relief at not losing her job for her big mouth compounded into an overall feeling of cheer, even with her worry over her daughter. There was a ton of work to do, and she had five major clients clamoring for reports and figures and answers to their unending questions, but it was, in all, a good day.

She was also determined to redouble her efforts at a solid work ethic. She'd taken this morning as a little wake-up call; with so many people unemployed and not knowing where their next meal would come from, Diana would happily forgo anything resembling a bonus if it meant keeping – and appreciating – her job. And she should work as hard as possible, she thought, to prove that appreciation to the company, to the universe, to the powers that be.

It was this determination that had her still clacking away at her keyboard when five o'clock rolled around. Nancy, buttoning herself into her coat, watched her for a moment.

"Hey, there," she said in a gently teasing voice. "Didn't anyone tell you it's quittin' time? C'mon. We're gonna miss the train if you don't hurry."

Diana glanced up. "Oh, no. You go on ahead. I've got some stuff to finish. I'll be here for a while."

"Newsflash," Nancy said. "Again. You're not getting fired."

Diana smiled. "I know," she said. "But – the close call sort of renewed my appreciation and drive for this job. I just want to finish up some of these reports and emails and then I'll be on my way."

Nancy shrugged gamely as she shouldered her bag. "What about Chrissy?"

"I asked Mrs. B to keep her for a little while after she picked up Chris from school."

"Okay." Nancy turned for the door. "Don't stay too late now, you hear?"

"Yes, Mom," Diana called absently as she squinted at her screen.

Nancy laughed. "Goodnight, doll."

"Night," Diana replied. "Give Jer-Bear a hug from me."

When Nancy left Diana took a deep breath and rolled her head, trying to work out a kink that had magically appeared in the left side of her neck after lunch. She reached for the cup of coffee on her desk and took a sip, and then instantly made a face when she realized it had gone cold.

A sense of weariness dropped over her and she leaned back in her chair, yawning widely. She gave herself a moment to just zone out for a little while, her eyeballs burning from staring at her screen all day.

The sound of her in-office instant messenger went off and she lifted her head. In addition to email, the communication system allowed employees to reach each other more quickly when they appeared online. She couldn't imagine who was contacting her now, and she immediately chided herself for forgetting to change her status to appear offline so as to go about her work undisturbed.

When she saw who the message was from, her stomach did a backflip. It was from Liam.

_What in the world are you still doing here? It's Monday, and after five o'clock. It's an absolute ghost town in this building – except for you!_

She swallowed as she considered her reply. _Hi, Mr. Nichols,_ she began, feeling foolish. _I'm just staying late this evening to finish up some things. I'll be heading home shortly._

_I hope so. It's already dark out, and cold, and I fear you have a few trains to catch before you'll be back at home. I'm sure your daughter is looking forward to your return._

She was genuinely surprised at his message. It was odd of him to be so open about her personal details, but at the same time, it was also sweet of him to be concerned.

_It's no problem_, she typed. _I do appreciate your concern though. That's very kind of you._

She sat back and waited, seeing "Liam Nichols is typing a response" flashing at the bottom of the chat window.

_I'm all about expressing valid concerns J Please don't stay too much longer. Go home, and enjoy the evening with your daughter. _

For some reason she couldn't stop staring at the smiley face icon he'd used. _Thank you,_ she typed slowly. _I hope you have an enjoyable evening as well._

They exchanged just a couple more "good night" messages, and then he was offline. Diana felt a glow of warmth in her lower belly; she wasn't sure what it meant that she'd just conversed for a little bit with the CEO of the company over instant messenger – something she had never before done with the former CEO.

Then she thought of all the things that she could have asked to be polite – if he'd had a decent first day on the job, if he'd gotten the hang of the layout of the building, if he was finding his way around all right. It was too late now, but perhaps there would be another time.

She finished up the last of her day's work with a little smile on her face.

* * *

Eames turned off his computer and leaned back in his leather chair for a moment, sighing to himself. Eventually he rose from his desk and shuffled over to one of the side tables in the lavish office and poured himself another cup of tea, then moved to the window. He took in the breathtaking view of downtown Manhattan at night, lit up for the holidays, and sipped, feeling a measure of calm steal over him.

His first real day on the job had been relatively successful. Thing would, of course, be slow-going in the beginning, as he had to give the impression that he was learning his role and that would involve lots of meetings, both in-person and over the phone, with the heads of the companies that the advertising company did business with and plenty of meetings with Mrs. Guthrie to make sure he was getting everything squared away.

Fortunately the woman was a very patient, kind teacher, and also incredibly brilliant and efficient. Eames' initial suspicion that she was the real brains behind the legitimate aspect of the company was cemented after only one day with her. And she had been completely blown away by his gift of her favorite pastry.

"I was only joking," she'd said, flabbergasted and flustered.

"I take comments from beautiful, intelligent women very seriously, darling," Eames had teased. "Therefore, I shall endeavor to bring you every black-and-white I can find in that lovely borough if it would please you."

"These are more than enough," Mrs. Guthrie had replied, flushing a deep red. "You are so thoughtful."

"Not at all. I'm really quite selfish; I rather understand that you are the real CEO of this company and I would do well to keep this side of your good opinion."

"Oh, you!" Mrs. Guthrie waved him off. "You are too much."

The highlight of his day had, of course, been his most unexpected encounter with the lovely Miss di Natale that morning. Granted, it had ended with a look of complete horror on her pretty face, but everything up until that point had been most pleasant.

He had hardly been able to believe his own two eyes when he'd seen her barreling toward the train, shouting for him to hold the door. He wondered if it was his eyes playing tricks on him at first, being that he hadn't been able to think of much else besides her lovely face over the long weekend. Perhaps he'd seen a similarly built pretty brunette and his imagination had done the rest. But, no – as she'd drawn closer, moving rapidly in her tall heels – he had seen that, without a shadow of a doubt, it was the same lovely young woman from the office last week.

Her long dark hair had been windblown, her cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink, and her breath came in little mint-scented puffs as he'd held the door and stepped back to give him room. And when she'd looked up to thank him, she'd done a very satisfying double-take – perhaps the haircut and new wardrobe Cobb had insisted on _had_ improved his look a bit – and had then just looked at him, her large, peculiarly colored eyes wide.

Normally, charm flowed out of Eames as easily as the air he breathed, but this morning he found it difficult to string words together that made any sort of sense. He only hoped he hadn't sounded like a dolt as they'd conversed about his background in England – very skimmed over, to be sure – and the bit of business that brought him to the Bronx so early that morning.

He found that she was witty, and intelligent, and articulate, apart from being so lovely up close. And in their close vicinity, he'd been able to smell her fragrance – something sweet and wonderful and ethereal and delicious – and hear her voice, which managed to be sweet and soft and a little husky with just a hint of a rasp, and a touch of an East Coast accent that had been softened over time with travel and perhaps a personal desire to neutralize it a bit.

When they'd been in the lobby of the building, and she'd most regretfully pieced together who he actually was, and that look of sheer, mortified horror had washed over her face, he'd felt genuinely bad – he hadn't wanted her to think that he'd purposely kept his identity from her, but at the same time, he also understood that people tended to clam up and stiffen around authority. And he simply didn't want that with her, not for those first few moments – he wanted to get a better idea of the woman behind the lovely face he'd been thinking about nonstop for days. He assumed that at some point he'd have to find a way to get in touch with her, or all out pay her a visit, in order to apologize for misleading her. But the last thing he expected after he'd made it to his cushy office and sat down at his desk was to see an email from her – a note of apology.

He'd gotten the impression that she was absolutely covering her rear end, and had honestly meant every word she'd said. He was concerned about the practices at Nichols Advertising – it was clear that employees were discouraged from sharing any opinion or view that didn't paint the company in a glowing light, and perhaps there had even been some retaliation in the past on employees who had done so.

It was with this in mind that he'd crafted his response, but his main emphasis had been on apologizing for the morning. He hadn't received a reply to his message, and though it annoyed him a little to admit it – to himself – he'd found himself wondering all day if she was going to reply.

_You're the CEO, you wanker,_ he chided himself. _Not the salesman on the next floor. _

However, he'd been unable to resist reaching out to her once more, and had been quite pleased that this time, she replied.

He shook his head to himself as he stood at the window, sipping his hot tea. "Got a little fancy, have you, Eamsie?" he muttered tauntingly to himself.

It would be nothing to talk her out of her knickers, he knew. He'd done it countless times with women far more stuck up than she appeared to be. Besides, there was no telling precisely how long he was going to be here, and New York got cold in the winter. It might do him well to find a suitable companion to keep his bed warm at night, a soft body in which to find his pleasure whenever he wanted.

But as he thought of her face, the look on her soft, lovely features when she'd looked up at him on the train, he felt his insides shift a little in an odd way, and that familiar warm flush from the first day he'd seen her returned once more. In that moment he knew that she was not the same as any other woman he'd ever been with or bedded, and he knew on a strange intrinsic level that she deserved so much more than a fling, and that she was entirely too smart to fall for the sort of bullshit a man looking only for that would send her way.

As he thought these things, he caught sight of sudden movement on the ground below, and saw a slim, dark-haired figure exit the building. Naturally, it was her; with the way his thoughts seemed to be geared these days, he had apparently developed a knack of conjuring her up out of nowhere with practically no effort.

He watched as she scurried across the street toward the general direction of the subway, and felt his heart and guts jerk in that strange little way again.

No, she was not like any other woman he'd ever known before. He just simply knew it.

"No sense in wasting your time, old boy," he muttered to himself, turning away from the window. "You won't be here long enough for it to matter."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: FLERF!**

**Chapter 6**

The next morning, when Diana exited the subway to walk toward work, she found herself feeling strangely and foolishly let down. She knew that the chances of seeing Mr. Nichols two days in a row on a train he had no reason to be on was slim, and in fact was downright dumb to hope for, but when she didn't see him on the train she couldn't help feeling disappointed.

She was taken aback at her own silliness. Though it hadn't been a strong conscious thought at the forefront of her mind she had felt that little spurt of anticipation in her belly and then immediately the cool wash of disappointment after that. She was annoyed with herself on so many levels; even if the man wasn't the ad interim CEO of her company, he lived in Manhattan. Unless he was planning to bring Mrs. Guthrie black-and-whites every single day there was nothing in the Bronx for him.

Nonetheless, she was forced to admit that she wanted to see him again, and even though they worked at the same place that wasn't a guarantee, since she'd rarely ever seen the older Mr. Nichols and even yesterday, she hadn't seen the younger Mr. Nichols once after the embarrassing scene in the lobby. She couldn't figure out why he had reached out to her the evening before, but it made her feel good. Very, very good, and she couldn't stop thinking about him or his incredible face. He was, by no embellishment or stretch of the imagination, the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. Michael certainly hadn't been a slouch in the looks department; his handsome, dark Sicilian features and fashionable style had always been present, even as teenagers, but Mr. Liam Nichols took male beauty to an entirely different level.

Diana shook herself and instead of heading into the building, she decided to make a brief detour at the coffee shop down the street to pick up some morning perk for herself and Nancy. She figured she owed her friend after acting like a spazz the day before, and she certainly wasn't going to make the mistake of not having coffee at hand first thing in the morning again. She pulled open the door of the coffee shop and sighed immediately; a "brief detour" was easily going to turn into a twenty minute venture with this crowd.

She stood in line patiently, and when it was her turn she leaned around the shoulder of the man in front of her who was still wrestling his change into his pocket with one hand and clutching his hot cup with the other to place her order. "Two medium nonfat double lattes, one with vanilla, one with caramel, please."

The barista nodded pleasantly and turned to start her order. The man in front of her finally finished stuffing his bills and coins into his pocket, and turned around abruptly, not realizing that Diana was behind him. She gasped and stepped back quickly to avoid getting splattered with hot coffee and ruining her dusty pink chiffon blouse and pale gray pencil skirt. She heard a grunt of pain behind her when her tall, narrow heel pressed into the top of what she assumed was a nice Italian leather male dress shoe. It scared her half to death and she began to trip over herself in her haste to un-impale the innocent bystander behind her. A pair of large hands came to her waist to assist her in keeping her balance, and inexplicably a feeling of doom washed over her and she knew what – who – she would see when she turned around.

"Miss di Natale," a warm, rich, deep accented voice said in her ear, sending a flood of tingles rushing over her body. "What a surprise. Are you quite all right?"

He was still holding onto her. Diana gulped and looked over shoulder into Mr. Nichols' wide pewter eyes, dancing with merriment. _Of all the times to go to this shop,_ she thought to herself. _He has to be here. Of course. And I have to break his foot._

She delicately disentangled herself from his hands, so warm she could feel them through her heavy tweed cloak, and pressed a black leather-gloved hand to her mouth.

"I am _so_ sorry," she said, mortified. "I hope I didn't ruin your shoe. Or break your toe. I – I didn't see you behind me and I was trying to not get scalded by the other guy."

Mr. Nichols chuckled and glanced down at his shoe. Her eyes followed his gaze, and she winced at the sight of the indentation of her heel on the top of his soft leather shoe. The leather moved as though he were wiggling his toe.

"Nothing broken, and it is just a shoe," he said gently. "I'm more concerned that you might have rolled your ankle, wobbling about as you were."

She blushed; he was teasing her, and she felt embarrassment at her clumsy flailing. But the mental image of what she had to have looked like, skittering back from a collision involving hot coffee only to crash into another person, step on their toe and then try to wobble away in horror was the stuff that Three Stooges movies were made of. She giggled, and a wide smile crossed his face in reply, obviously pleased she was able to laugh at herself.

"No, my ankle is fine," she said sheepishly. "Apparently my body and nervous system are fine-tuned to freak out at the slightest touch."

She heard what she was saying as the words slipped out of her mouth, and understood how it could be taken, and felt complete mortification as one of Mr. Nichols' eyebrows – the one with the interesting scar that toughened up his otherwise startlingly beautiful face – arched up in amusement.

"Indeed," he said quietly, and that one word, spoken in his voice, suckerpunched her right in the deep center of her femininity and she felt another rush, lower and more intense.

She cleared her throat and cast about desperately for a distraction, and then saw the barista had finished her lattes and was signaling to her. She turned to face him, pointing toward her drinks.

"Can I get you some coffee?" she asked. "Obviously that's why you're here this morning, and I'm pretty sure I just effectively ruined that for you. What would you like? It's on me. I insist."

"I couldn't possibly," he said, holding up a hand.

"No, really," Diana said firmly. "Please. What can I get you?"

"I'll have what you're having, then, if you insist," Mr. Nichols replied.

"I've got a nonfat double latte, with a squirt of caramel," Diana said doubtfully.

"Sounds wonderful," Mr. Nichols said cheerfully.

"Another one of these," Diana told the barista, lifting her cup, and the barista nodded. Diana added some extra cash to the counter to cover Mr. Nichols' drink and then shoved a generous amount of bills into the glass vase marked "Tips!" as well, flashing the barista an diffident look.

The barista made the third drink in record time, and Diana turned and handed it to Mr. Nichols with an apologetic smile. He took the drink with a gracious little bow of thanks and then led the way out of the crowded shop. Diana was deeply relieved that she made it out of the tiny building without further incident.

"This is quite lovely," Mr. Nichols commented, taking a sip. "I'm naturally a tea drinker, but since arriving in the States I've decided to do as the Romans do and try drinking coffee on a daily basis."

"And the verdict?" Diana asked with a smile.

He gave her a charming smile right back. "Well, while coffee is delightful, especially that which I've enjoyed since being here, I must confess I do keep a large bag of English Breakfast in my office when times get rough."

Diana tipped her head back and laughed. She caught his eye and noticed that he was watching her with a keen expression, smiling a little at her mirth. She cleared her throat self-consciously. "Well, I'm glad you like this," she said, nodding toward his cup. For a moment she forgot who she was with; his manner was so friendly, so easy and relaxed that it was almost like chatting with one of her coworkers. But then she remembered hastily that this was the newly inaugurated CEO, and the realization made her feel timid all over again. _What would anyone say if they saw us strolling into work like this?_ she thought worriedly.

"How, um," she began lamely, "how was your first day?"

"Absolutely delightful," he replied smoothly. "Lots of meetings, as I'm sure you can imagine. Getting acclimated to things. Mrs. Guthrie is a godsend. I intend to give her an extra very merry Christmas in her bonus this year."

Diana tried to keep her face neutral, but she felt surprise wash through her. _Bonuses?_

He caught her expression and grinned crookedly. "Ah. I let the cat out of the bag like a naughty bloke, didn't I? Well, Miss di Natale, thanks to your candid remarks yesterday morning regarding the complete unfairness of the employee holiday bonus program, I've taken the liberty of, shall we say – rejiggering the structure and, though I have yet to actually determine the amounts, I daresay you will find your bonus a good deal more pleasing than in years past."

Diana stopped in her tracks, horrified. "Mr. Nichols," she began rapidly. "I certainly did not intend to make such a scene over the – you didn't speak to your uncle about this, did you? I never wanted to make it seem – I'm not ungrateful for what I've been given –" She felt panic begin coiling the pit of her stomach.

Mr. Nichols' smooth brow creased slightly as he lightly placed a hand on her forearm. "Please, don't worry," he said quietly. "Good Lord, you're quite worked up, aren't you? I assure you, Miss di Natale, that you have nothing to worry about. This is a decision I am making, without assistance or input from my uncle. He placed me in charge, and I'm behaving accordingly. Though our opinions don't always line up, our commitment is the same – making sure we run a successful business. And that is completed only through the welfare of our employees. That's all." He gave her another disarmingly charming smile as they reached the door of the building. He badged over the scanner, and then she did, and he pulled the door open for her.

"All clear, am I, Bert?" he called to the guard.

"Yes, sir," Bert replied. "All clear, Mr. Nichols."

"Smashing." Mr. Nichols gave him a little salute and then moved toward the elevator. "After you, please."

Diana nodded her thanks, still overwhelmed that her bellyaching the day before had led to the beginning of change where employee holiday bonuses were concerned. And then she became overwhelmed even more, because in the small confines of the elevator, she could really smell him now, and it was even more heady and intoxicating than it had been the day before.

And they were all alone.

"Floor twenty, correct?" he asked politely, and pressed the button when she nodded. He also hit the button for the twenty-fourth floor. She drew a quiet breath in through her nose, her eyes closing as she inhaled his scent. It was unlike anything she had ever smelled before – a strange combination of spice and musk, cinnamon and vanilla, even something that reminded her of unsmoked tobacco and a hint of leather. It was purely masculine and it made her want to purr like a cat.

This was the first man she'd encountered in her entire life that affected her this way – not even Michael in the good days had been able to do so – and he was the top boss. She was already squeamish about them being seen walking into the building together, holding matching cups of coffee. They looked awfully chummy and she cringed at the thought that someone might think that she was "friends" with the boss. Not to mention, that sort of thing was definitely frowned upon and was even grounds for termination.

"I trust you made it home at a decent hour last night?" Mr. Nichols was saying, and Diana snapped out of it and glanced at him. He was watching her again, that sort of keen look in his eyes.

"Oh, yes," Diana replied. "Thank you for asking."

"No problem," Mr. Nichols replied. "It's very important to me that employees get the chance to spend time with their families. Nothing is worse than having to work too much and missing out on the moments that make this time of year so special."

She looked at him in surprise, and the tips of his ears flushed a little as he glanced away. She thought about how different he seemed from his uncle; it was hard to believe they were really related.

"That's very kind of you to say," she said softly. "My daughter is having a little bit of a hard time this year. I think I mentioned that yesterday. It's important to me to be there for her as much as I can."

"Ah, yes," Mr. Nichols said. "You mentioned you were afraid she might be losing her Christmas spirit. I do hope that is not the case. This is certainly the best time of the year."

"You think so?" Diana asked with a smile.

"Of course," he replied, returning her smile. "Don't you?"

_I used to._ "Sure," she responded politely. Just then, the elevator landed at the twentieth floor and the doors slid open. She turned to look at Mr. Nichols, intending to make some polite remark of goodbye, but he bowed his head in that gracious manner from before, detracting from the politeness with a little cheeky smile.

"Thank you very much, Miss di Natale, for the morning refreshment," he said. She nodded, lifting her hand in a little wave as the doors began to slide shut. She froze when he gave her a little wink. "And my thanks for the coffee as well. Enjoy your day."

The doors closed, and Diana stood there gaping at them like an idiot. She snapped out of it and hurried toward the office she shared with Nancy. She tried to arrange her face into calm lines as she opened the door and crossed the room to set the little cardboard drink tray on her desk.

"Morning," she said breezily, turning to unbutton her cloak and hang it on the coat rack. She slung her purse over it, and then turned back to the desk.

Nancy was already busily working her cup out of the holder while also fixing her with a deeply suspicious look. "And why are we in such a cheery mood this morning?"

"First off, you're welcome," Diana said, placing her hands on her hips and nodding at the latte in Nancy's hands. "And second, who said I was cheery? I said one word to you this morning, and I'm cheery?"

"My mistake," Nancy said smoothly, perching on the edge of the desk and primly crossing her ankles as she sipped her drink. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn't have assumed that you were feeling cheery. That ridiculous grin on your face has absolutely no bearing on your mood, I know."

Diana clapped her fingers to her mouth in surprise, and felt that her lips were indeed curved into a smile. "I'm not smiling," she insisted, and then couldn't stop a wide grin from splitting her face.

Nancy's beautifully groomed eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my," she said. "This is serious." She got up and shut the door to their office, then reclaimed her seat. "Hmm. This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain tall, devastatingly handsome British CEO. I know this. Again – I won't be jumping to conclusions. Don't you worry."

Diana's mouth dropped open. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Nothing. I didn't see either of you coming out of the coffee shop this morning," Nancy said smugly. "Together."

Diana rolled her eyes. "What were you doing there?" she demanded. "You know it's my turn to get the coffee."

"It is," Nancy agreed. "However, I thought that I would take it upon myself to fetch it this morning since you were so out of sorts yesterday, and then you stayed late – but to my surprise, you remembered, since you were already in line when I got there. And I happened to see our new boss walk in after you." She smirked. "It's just me, Dee. Spill it."

Diana sighed. "There's nothing to spill, really," she said. "He's just – God, he's just so _charming_, Nance. Like – who says that about guys our age anymore? But he is. And he's so polite. And beautiful. His smile – I can't even look right at him when he smiles because it's that amazing."

"His mouth," Nancy agreed. "Is amazing."

"He – I think he was flirting with me or something when I got out of the elevator," Diana said in a low voice, even though their door was shut. "He thanked me for the 'morning refreshment' I gave him, and then thanked me also for the coffee."

"What?" Nancy asked. "I'm lost."

"I almost got hot coffee dumped on me this morning, so I backed up and stepped on Mr. Nichols' toe," Diana explained, flushing and feeling foolish. "I didn't know he was there behind me. Anyway, I practically put a hole in his shoe and dismembered his foot, so I bought him a latte to make up for it."

"Ah," Nancy said with a nod, then she laughed. "Only to you, Dee, I swear. And he was totally flirting with you."

"Maybe not," Diana said carefully. "He's British. I mean, they're hardwired to be outrageously charming."

"Maybe," Nancy said with a smile. "But something tells me the admiration might be mutual."

"I think he's just being nice," Diana said, but then she thought of him holding onto her in the coffee shop, and his parting remark in the elevator, and she couldn't fight off another smile. She felt like a teenager again.

"Someone's got a little crush," Nancy said, winking. "Let's see what we can do about that!"

"Nothing," Diana replied immediately. "You will do nothing." She paused, and then added, "And that's under the total assumption that I even have a 'crush'. Which I don't."

"Okay." Nancy batted her long lashes and got up to take her seat. "Thanks for the coffee, babe." She grinned wolfishly over the partition before she sat down. "Or should I say, the morning refreshment?"

"Shut it," Diana warned with a laugh. She knew better than to feel how she was feeling; Mr. Nichols the younger was just a bit of a flirt, and charming, and that was all. There was no reason to get so worked up like she was fourteen again and had just had "a moment" in class with the freshman hottie in her class.

But as she logged into her computer and began to systematically work her way through her emails, she couldn't stop thinking of him.

* * *

Eames bid Mrs. Guthrie a lavishly worded good morning, taking secret pleasure in the way the older woman flushed and stuttered. He was growing fonder of the woman by the moment, and for as long as he could manage it, he would make it a priority to make her blush and smile every day. It was simply too much fun.

He passed the secretary's desk and entered his own office. He set his cup down on his desk and stared at it as he removed his overcoat and sat his briefcase down. Running into Diana this morning had been purely dumb luck, and he was absolutely grateful for it. Granted, it hadn't been genuinely "running into" her, as he'd seen her walk into the coffee shop moments before he did. But, since he was heading to the same place without any knowledge that she would be there, that sort of made it qualify as a "run in", he reckoned.

He'd stood behind her quietly, just looking at her as she waited to place her order. She'd been wearing a fashionable tweed cloak over a knee-length, pale dove gray pencil skirt, nude stockings and another pair of high heels made from buttery soft black leather with a little peep toe. Her dark hair was wound up into a loose chignon and she wore a pair of gold knotted earrings in her ears. He could even smell her from where he was standing, that same mouth-watering, sweet and floral scent that was just so deliciously feminine.

He'd seen the near-collision unfold before his eyes, knowing exactly what would happen – the bloke in front of Diana would turn, not paying any attention at all to his surroundings. She, wanting to avoid getting her lovely clothing ruined, would step back quickly. And Eames, being right behind her, would make no move to get out of the way whatsoever.

Perhaps it was a naughty little trick, but he suddenly was overcome with the desire to touch her in some way, and this was about as close as he'd get.

So when it all happened, precisely according to what he predicted, he'd done his best to ignore the pain of her stiletto heel crushing his big toe through his shoe – though he hadn't been able to do anything to prevent the little grunt of pain that escaped out of his mouth – and wrapped his hands around her waist to steady her. Even touching just her waist was enough to send a tingle racing down his spine – her small waist nipped inward in such a way that let him know she had the sort of body that had generous curves; hips that would bow out beautifully in an hour-glass shape below that narrow waist, and he'd already taken a subtle eyeful of her bountiful chest the day before. Her body felt soft and trim, womanly and called out to every last drop of him that was male. He'd felt her warmth even through the layers of her clothing and it had taken all of his self-control not to groan like a letch at the feeling.

And being alone with her in the elevator – well, she was fortunate that he was undercover and a gentleman. The thought made him smile a little, but honestly, her fragrance in that confined space was threatening to completely unravel him, making his mind wander toward all sorts of naughty thoughts. The one that stood out in his mind involved him thrusting her against the wall, stripping her of her clothing until he found the source of that lovely fragrance, and then losing himself in tasting every inch of her skin so he could determine if she tasted as enchantingly as she smelled.

All of these thoughts flowing through his mind as he stood sedately next to her, holding his briefcase strategically in front of him to still remain a gentleman, making small talk about her child and the holidays, and he still was unable to believe he'd made some sort of remark about Christmas being the most wonderful time of the year like some pathetic sod. If that wasn't self-control, at least as far as Eames was concerned, he wasn't quite sure what was.

However, a bit of it had shattered at the end, and he'd been unable to resist a little flirtation with her. And she was so sweetly innocent that the look on her face after his parting comment made him smile even more. She was simply too beautiful, too delectable, too sweet. He knew nothing of real substance about her, didn't know her middle name or her personal preferences, what her family was like or where they lived – but he knew his insane, inexplicable attraction to her grew every time he saw her.

The phone on his desk buzzed and he jumped a little, then saw that it was Mrs. Guthrie paging him. He hit the button for the intercom.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked.

"Two gentlemen here to see you, Mr. Nichols," the older woman said politely. "About the merger."

"The merger?" Eames repeated.

"Yes. I'm not sure what that means, but one Mr. Dominick Cobb and one Mr. Arthur Collins insist that it's important."

"Ah. Yes." Eames rolled his eyes. "The merger. Send them back, please."

A moment later, there was a knock on the door and he smiled, shaking his head. "Come in, please." He looked up as Cobb and a trim, elegantly groomed young man with dark hair and dark eyes and an eternally youthful face stepped into his office.

Eames gestured for Cobb to shut the door as he moved off his desk. "Arthur Collins, as I live and breathe," he said, reaching out to shake the other man's hand. "It has just been far too long, darling. I understand congratulations are in order?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, allowing a one-sided smile to cross his face. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Eames? Unless that wasn't you who so thoughtfully mailed the book of Kama Sutra to me and signed your name."

"Ah, that," Eames said. "That was me. I thought perhaps I'd send you my gift early, so you could go about practicing and make your wife happy on your wedding night."

"I would have preferred not to invite you, myself," Arthur announced darkly, "but Ariadne insisted. Apparently you made a good impression on her when we worked together last."

"Ariadne is a princess," Eames said with a little reverent bow of his head. "And certainly too good for you. However, my friend, I am pleased at the news nonetheless and wish you both happiness. I will be at your wedding with bells on and will try to be on my best behavior."

"How terrifying," Arthur remarked dryly.

"As touching as this all is," Cobb interjected gently, "I'm afraid this isn't exactly a social call, Eames. Just checking in to see how you're getting settled."

"One bloody day on the job, mate," Eames reminded him, and gestured to the two overstuffed leather chairs in front of his desk. "Care for some tea?"

"Sure," Arthur said. He nodded to the cup of coffee on the desk. "Just can't hack it like the Yanks with coffee, huh, Eames?"

"Oh, no, this is perfectly lovely," Eames replied. "But that is more due to the person who purchased it for me rather than the actual contents, themselves."

"A lovely lady, perhaps?" Cobb asked.

Eames returned with two mugs of tea and handed them over. "You might say so."

"What's the company policy on banging your employees, Eames?" Arthur asked, sipping his tea.

"Well, being that I'm the boss now, I'd say it's quite in my favor," Eames retorted and took his seat. "Anyway, to answer your question, mate, it's not going to be a simple task to get the information you require." He held up a hand as Cobb's mouth opened to protest. "I understand that this is time-sensitive, I assure you. It's just going to take a bit of time to ease into this role to get what I need. And I've been going through old man Nichols' files at home, and there isn't much there that I've uncovered – yet."

"All right," Cobb sighed.

"When I find something, you will be the first to know." Eames nodded his head. "I'm still meeting with his contacts as I'm getting settled in – and I'm sure some of those contacts are on the naughty side of things."

He let his guests linger long enough to finish their tea, and by the time the mugs were empty it was time for Eames' first appointment of many that day. In fact, all of his meetings were off-site for the day, but he made plans with Cobb and Arthur to meet up for dinner before he returned to the office to pack up for the day.

If this was the life of a CEO – schmoozing with other bosses, exercising his very well developed gift of gab, eating free meals and doing not very much real work – he'd take it.

When he finally returned to the building, it was nearly seven o'clock. It was dark out, and most of the employees were gone now. The cleaning crew had come in to begin their nightly duties, and he nodded to a few of them he passed on his way to his office, making polite small talk.

He simply retrieved his unopened briefcase from the desk and turned to walk out. He hadn't opened the briefcase let alone log into his laptop, but he'd had his company cell phone on him and seen the multitude of emails that were being sent to him. _That_ aspect of this job, he could do without. He couldn't simply trash the messages; people were actually expecting replies.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and as soon as the doors opened he heard someone talking. He came stealthily around the elevator bank, and felt a start of surprise as he saw Diana in the lobby. Her back was to him, and she appeared to be talking on her cell phone. "Another late night," he murmured to himself, then tuned in to hear what she was talking about.

She sounded very upset.

"Once again," she was saying, her voice trembling, "you are acting like an irresponsible prick!" She fell silent as though she were listening to whoever it was she was talking to respond. "No, I don't care, Michael! At some point, Christina _has_ to become a priority to you. Do you know what she said to me the other day? To paraphrase, she feels like her daddy has better things to do than to spend quality time with – I don't give a shit about the gifts you buy her!"

Eames listened intently, quickly surmising that she was speaking to the father of her daughter, and that they were having a bit of a row, to put it mildly.

"Look, Michael," she said, and her voice was thick with unshed tears, "I don't give a rat's ass about your life anymore. You want to marry Jessa, please, by all means, you two can have each other. I don't care about you like that anymore, not since I discovered that you're a cheating piece of a shit who will _never_ change, and that I wasted years on you. I'm sorry that you tricked me into marrying you, I'm sorry I fell for all that 'death do us part' bullshit, and I'm sorry that I was an excellent wife to a bastard who didn't deserve it! I lived, I learned, I divorced you, and I'm moving on with my life. The problem I have – no, _you_ listen to me, I'm not done, don't interrupt me – the problem I have is that you seem to think you can pick and choose when you want to be a father to our kid. You weren't there when she was born. You weren't there when she took her first steps or when she said her first words. You weren't there when she started reading, or when she learned to write her name. You have missed out on the fucking amazing genius that we created, this brilliant sweet little girl who _only _wants to be loved by her parents! You choose _everything_ else over her – your family, your career, your stupid little blonde _idiot_, your vacations – all of that shit come before Christina and she _sees this_! And you don't care! –No, you can go fuck yourself right now, is what you can do. I'll tell you what – from here on out, I will tell our daughter not to expect to see you anymore and if and when you find the time for her, you let me know and we'll all be surprised together. Goodbye."

Eames felt a tiny bit guilty for eavesdropping, but not very much, since it allowed him to gain some insight into her personal life. And he was very sorry for what he heard – he couldn't imagine what it would be like to be a single mother to an apparently great child, with the other party involved in creating said child choosing not to come around. He'd been lucky to be raised by two parents that loved him as much as each other and vice versa, and he couldn't imagine what it would be like to any part of a family equation that didn't resemble the one he'd grown up in.

He watched as she leaned against one of the marble pillars in the lobby, her head bowed as she clearly struggled to gain some sort of control over herself. Her gloved hand clenched around the cell phone she was still clutching, and he could practically feel her desire to throw it hard against a solid surface radiate off her.

He cleared his throat quietly and stepped into the lobby, and she whirled around, a look of mortification falling over her lovely features. Her face was blotchy and red, and her eyes were bloodshot and shining with tears she was struggling to hold back.

"M-Mr. Nichols," she stammered. "Oh, God. I'm sorry – I thought I was the only – I must not have heard the elevator…"

"Don't apologize," he said gently, holding up a hand. "Truly. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I didn't want to, er, interrupt you."

They stood looking at each other, and while Eames felt only a little pity for her, he could tell this was enormously awkward for her.

"I – that was not a conversation for work," she said. "I should have waited until I got home, but I got a phone call, and –"

"Miss di Natale, please," Eames said, shaking his head. "You owe me nothing by way of explanation. I only want to make sure that you're all right."

"I'm – yes," she squeaked, then cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nichols, but I have to go. Goodnight." She turned on her heel and practically flew out of the building.

A little clattering noise caught his attention, and he glanced at the floor, seeing that her badge was lying there. He leaned over and scooped it up, and then hurried out of the building behind her, hearing the electronic noise of the locking mechanism engaging. His car service, the one that was always going to be waiting to take him to and from work and anywhere else he wanted to go, was parked in front of the building. He managed to hold up a finger to signal the driver to wait a moment before he jogged after Diana.

She was hurrying down the street, presumably toward the subway, when he finally caught up to her. He touched her elbow, and she whirled around in surprise, her chest heaving with exertion, and the tears she'd been struggling to hold back slipping down her face.

Eames sighed. "You dropped this," he said quietly, handing her the badge.

She blinked at it, and then glanced at the ground as she brushed tears from her cheeks. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm – I apologize. This has not been a great night for me."

"Don't apologize," Eames said, again. "Honestly. I understand. I'm sorry for what you're going through."

Diana drew in a long, shaky breath and nodded, still not able to look at him. He chewed his lip as he studied her for a brief moment.

"You're not really going to ride the subway for an hour to get home, are you?" he asked her quietly. She looked up at him, her eyes widening in surprise. "My car service is waiting just down the street. I'm more than happy to give you a ride home."

"No," Diana said quickly, shaking her head. "No, thank you, sir. I couldn't impose. I'll be fine."

Eames smiled at her. "Oh, but I insist," he said, repeating her words back to her from that morning in the coffee shop. "No imposition. I cannot allow one of my employees to ride that filthy train when she is this distraught."

He hadn't meant to mock her feelings, only to try to make light of them, and hoped she wouldn't take offense to his last comment. He felt pleased relief when she gave him a tiny smile.

"Are – are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"Absolutely," he replied. "Come."

He led the way toward the car, the driver of which being quite keen and noticing that they were going to have an additional passenger, and so began to drive toward them to shorten their walk in the cold night air. The driver hopped out and opened the door for Diana while Eames climbed in the other way.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked. Eames glanced at Diana.

"Um, Norwood," Diana said timidly. "207th and Bainbridge, please."

The ride was quiet, as Eames sensed Diana didn't really feel like talking. He heard the buzz of her cell phone going off intermittently and didn't miss the annoyed expression on her face every time she looked down at it. Finally, she put the phone away altogether.

He saw the way she kept glancing at him out of his peripheral vision. Finally, he looked at her when he caught her looking at him again, and her eyes widened a little as though she hadn't intended to be caught, but she didn't look away. The long, quiet glance they shared made his chest tighten in a strange way.

When they reached her neighborhood, Eames got out to open her door himself. She stood before him outside her building, under a streetlamp, and looked up. In the orange-tinged glow of the light, it made her green-brown eyes seem pale.

"Thank you for the ride home," she whispered.

Eames swallowed hard. "My pleasure," he replied softly. "Would you like me to accompany you to the door?"

Diana smiled gently. "No, thank you," she said. "You've done more than enough. I – I appreciate your kindness."

"Kind" wasn't a word that Eames would have personally chosen to describe himself, and to hear her attribute that adjective toward him made that tight feeling in chest return.

"You're most welcome," he said, a little hoarsely.

Diana smiled up at him once more, and gently touched his arm. "Have a good night, sir," she said quietly and turned to walk up the stairs to her building. She closed the door carefully behind her, her eyes finding Eames' through the glass as she did so, and then she disappeared up the steps inside.

Eames returned to the vehicle and climbed back inside, directing his driver back to the penthouse in Manhattan.

The tight feeling in his chest took a long time to dissipate.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: More flerfy feels, 'cause I feel like it. xoxo**

**Chapter 7**

"Hey, Mrs. B," Diana said quietly into the phone Friday morning. "I think I might be staying late tonight, too. I'm really sorry – this has just been a crazy, crazy week for me."

"No trouble," Mrs. Brenner replied. "I really don't mind picking Chrissy up from school. It's sort of nice to take a walk through the neighborhoods this time of year."

"Well, I feel like I've been a huge imposition on your time this week," Diana said, feeling guilty. "Normally I would just bring my laptop home with me and work from there but there's a lot of files here at work I have been needing to reference, and I think Christina gets a little annoyed with me when I work at home."

"Yes, I got the impression that she would much prefer that you be at home when you're home," Mrs. Brenner said gently. "But we all understand. Tell you what – I'll get Chrissy after school and after she does her homework, we'll get a pot of chili on and get some cookies baking. We'll watch some of the Christmas programs that are coming on TV tonight, and by the time you get back you can have a nice big bowl of chili, some cookies, and then you two can be on your way."

"That sounds wonderful," Diana said with a smile, thanking God silently for her surrogate mother-like neighbor. "Say, Chris and I are going to go pick out our tree and decorate tomorrow night. I'm making spaghetti and meatballs, of course. Would you like to come over and help us decorate?"

"Why, certainly," Mrs. Brenner replied. "But only if I can bring something."

"Just yourself and your appetite," Diana said.

"Well, you know that's not what I meant. I'll think of something. Maybe some nice mulled cider."

"You really don't need to, but, if you do – that sounds wonderful. Thanks, Mrs. B. Really – thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're welcome, dear," Mrs. Brenner replied. "Now you get back to work."

Diana got off the phone and sighed. It was late morning and she was completely swamped. It was difficult to concentrate on her work, however, because she simply could not stop thinking about how wonderful Mr. Nichols was.

She was deeply embarrassed he'd overheard her ripping her ex a new asshole in a _most_ uncouth manner – mortified, even. It made her blush and cringe even now, thinking of the language that she'd used and how absolutely classless she'd sounded. But she wasn't sorry for saying the things she'd said. Michael needed to hear them, even if they didn't mean that much to him now, and it had felt good to tell him precisely how she felt and what she thought, his feelings be damned.

The truth was, while a part of her wanted Michael to be out of her life for good, she knew that he meant the world to her small daughter. And more than anything, she wanted Christina to be happy. So if Michael could get that through his stupid, fat head and develop a sense of responsibility about himself where his daughter was concerned, she felt pretty sure that she could be cordial to him. But the more he made their daughter cry, the less she cared to try to be that way.

_I wasn't always some bitchy, shrieky shrew,_ she thought with grim amusement. _You made me this way, pal._

Unfortunately, this side of her was reserved especially for Michael, and nobody else. So that Mr. Nichols had witnessed the worst part of her made her wince. Not only because he was the CEO and the boss of all bosses, but because, frankly, she was attracted to him and didn't want him to think ill of her.

_There_, she thought. _You were honest with yourself. You can't tell anyone, of course, but at least you're being honest with yourself. _

It had to mean something. At least, she hoped it did. _Probably doesn't_, she thought dejectedly. _Not like anything can happen anyway. On account of him being _the boss _and all._

She wasn't one hundred percent certain, but she had a good idea that might be grounds for termination. And she couldn't afford, literally and figuratively, to be terminated. So, she told herself, it was perfectly okay to find Mr. Nichols attractive, because, well, he was. And anyone with eyes could see this. On the rare occasions this week that she'd seen him passing through the hallways or in the break room, every set of female eyes locked on and followed his every move. There was absolutely no one he couldn't charm; he seemed to be the guys' guy and a ladies' man.

That thought admittedly brought on a tiny pang of jealousy. For as nice as he was being to her, she knew that he just _had_ to be some kind of lothario. A man who looked like that and possessed that sort of cultured charm and polished manner simply wasn't sleeping alone at night. Unlike her; the last person who wasn't her child that had shared her bed was Michael, and that had been just over three years ago.

She was quite sure that meant she was a virgin again.

However, she'd vowed that she was done with men, that the only thing she would care about anymore was her daughter, her friends and her job, and that relationships and romance were for the birds. That bitterness had carried her through the years, and that she had at least taken some notice to the opposite sex was a positive thing.

She was pretty sure, anyway. _Whatever._

She turned back to her work and was making some headway when Nancy came back from a long two-hour meeting. She smiled at Diana cheerfully as she made her way over to their desk.

"Saw your boyfriend in the elevator just now," she teased. "He's lookin' good today. As usual. And my _God,_ he smells delicious. That's Frederic Malle's _Musc Ravageur_, unless I am greatly mistaken. And I'm not."

"And how can you possibly be sure of what cologne he wears?" Diana asked absently, shuffling through a stack of papers. "That's like the time we went to Saks and you were just _so sure _the salesgirl was wearing _Alien_ by Thierry Mugler and it turned out to be something from Bath and Body Works."

"I just know, okay?" Nancy said defensively. "I have a nose. The other time was not my fault. She mixed her body spray and lotion in a way that smelled exactly like _Alien._ And stop trying to change the subject about how good your boyfriend smells." She grinned naughtily.

"Please stop calling him that," Diana pleaded, "before the wrong person hears you and takes you seriously and I get fired."

"Oh, chill," Nancy said dismissively. "I have tact."

"Oh, you do?" Diana cocked an eyebrow.

With Nancy being her best friend, she'd _had_ to share everything about the ride home from the other night, but at the same time she regretted it the instant the story was out of her mouth, since Nancy would never let her hear the end of it. She had been hell-bent for the better part of a year on finding Diana a boyfriend, and now that it appeared that the new, young, devastatingly handsome CEO was the apple of her friend's eye, she was constantly musing ways to bring them together, out loud.

"Maybe you could be like the Little Mermaid," Nancy had helpfully offered yesterday, "and enchant him with your beautiful singing voice."

"You know I don't sing for people," Diana said, suddenly shy as always at the mention of her singing. "Not to mention that's completely dumb. I'm obviously not a red-headed cartoon mermaid."

"You should, though," Nancy had replied. "Hey! We could arrange, like, a company-wide Christmas karaoke party. You know Nichols never threw us a real party – just punch and cookies in the break room for fifteen minutes. Maybe it's time to stop waiting on management and take our celebration into our own hands."

"How revolutionary of you," Diana had said with a shrug. "Maybe the new Mr. Nichols will do something for everyone."

"He's too busy for that, and it's too short notice," Nancy replied. "Besides, who's to say the apple fell far from the Grinch tree?"

"What?" Diana had pretended to be shocked. "You mean, there is a possibility that he is _not _perfect?"

"Don't change the subject," Nancy had said. "We should totally have something. And we could invite him. And then you could sing."

"I thought he was a Grinch now?" Diana had exclaimed.

It was exhausting, humorous and a little annoying, but Diana knew that Nancy only wanted her to be happy. However, she was regretting ever telling Nancy anything about Mr. Nichols. It was only a matter of time before she said the wrong thing in front of the wrong person – like someone from HR, or, God forbid, Mr. Nichols himself.

The rest of the day passed smoothly, with Diana able to make a sizeable dent in the mountain of work that she had. She and Nancy were the only two senior account execs, and there were only two other junior account execs in their group. They were still in their probationary period, though, and until they were released on their own, it meant double the work for Diana and Nancy and twice as much hand-holding. It was checking their work and being their training wheels while on-boarding new clients that was keeping both women after work so late lately, although Diana's accounts were a little more complex than Nancy's. Or maybe Nancy was just that much more efficient.

It was after six when she was finally packing up her things, stifling a yawn as well as the maddening urge to rub her burning eyes furiously. She wished she could magically click her heels together and just be at home, but she knew that she was leaving an hour earlier than she'd originally planned on and would be with Christina in about forty-five minutes, if she didn't miss the train.

She was reaching out to switch off her computer when her instant messenger popped up with a message. She felt her heart leap into her throat when she saw that it was from Mr. Nichols.

_Good evening. I see you are here late yet again and normally I would chastise you for this, but tonight I actually am greatly relieved. I am in need of some assistance._

Diana was curious as she typed out a reply. _What can I help you with?_

_I've got to sign off on a new contract with a client and it's all ready to go – except that the junior account exec that sent it to me failed to get a senior account exec's signature on it. It's actually for one of the clients that Miss Watkins is passing onto Mr. Ulrich, but I just need either one of your signatures to finish this off. And it appears that Miss Watkins is gone for the evening, so I suppose that makes you the lucky one. _

_No problem,_ Diana replied. _If you bring it down on your way out, I can sign it and then drop it in the outgoing mail for tomorrow._

_Actually, the client wants a copy faxed tonight, _Mr. Nichols replied, _and it would be much simpler if you could come up to my office now to sign, and then I can fax it off to him. If that's all right with you. And I do apologize for inconveniencing you. I'm certain you were about to walk out the door._

The thought of being alone with Mr. Nichols after-hours in his office made her stomach roil with nervousness. _It's no problem,_ she typed. _I'll be up in a moment._

She switched off her computer and sat in her chair for a moment, a little dazed. Then she wrenched her desk drawer open, snatching out a compact mirror. She checked her face, touching up her makeup slightly to take the shine off her T-zone, and then applied a fresh coat of raspberry lip balm. It had a light sheen to it and provided some sheer color, adding just a subtle brightening to her lips. She made sure her hair still looked presentable, twisted back into a half-ponytail at the crown of her head, and took out a tiny perfume vial to give herself a little spritz of fragrance.

She popped a cinnamon breath mint into her mouth and gathered her coat and bag. She thought about donning her coat, but then decided she looked nicer in just her burgundy and gray plaid pencil skirt and soft, dove-gray silk blouse and cream heels, so she left it hanging over her arm and strode to the elevator. She used her badge for access to the twenty-fourth floor and then took the short ride up.

She felt a little foolish for her primping; honestly, she was just there to sign a few documents and leave. He was probably as tired as she was, ready to get home and do whatever he did on a Friday night, which probably meant getting even more spiffed up than he usually was, hitting the hottest lounges for the finest Scotch with some friends, and maybe chatting up some attractive ladies. He certainly wasn't about to take a smelly subway home to the Bronx and settle in for chili, cookies, and _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_.

Like she was.

_You're completely different,_ she chided herself, _and you're acting like a teenager with a boy band crush. He is not the long-lost member of Backstreet Boys circa 'ninety-eight. He's your boss, and while he might be a nice guy, there are rules to be followed and besides – he doesn't need any of your drama._

Touché, perhaps. Regardless, when the doors opened, Diana popped another cinnamon mint into her mouth and took a deep breath, heading for his lavish office at the back of the room.

His door was slightly ajar, and she could hear his voice low and murmuring, like he was speaking quietly into the phone. She didn't want to make it seem like she was eavesdropping, especially since he'd likely heard the bell ding over the elevator when it arrived on this floor, so she quickly knocked twice.

"Gotta go, mate," she heard him say into the phone. Then, a little louder, "Please come in, Miss di Natale."

Diana pushed the door open and found him leaning over his desk, looking into his computer screen. She suppressed a little smile; his tie was loosened and his top buttons undone. His jacket was flung haphazardly over his chair, and his normally neat hair was tousled from the day in a way that Diana found completely adorable. He looked like he'd had a bit of a crazy day, himself.

If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that his face lit up at the sight of her, and suddenly she was very glad she'd taken the time to primp, however silly and pointless it might have seemed earlier.

"Hello," he said warmly. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages." He smiled his beautifully symmetrical, wide smile, sincere and sweet.

"I know," Diana replied. "It's been a busy, crazy week."

"Have you big plans for the weekend?" he asked, squinting at the screen as he clicked his mouse a few times.

"Not really," Diana said shyly. "Just going to take my daughter to pick out our Christmas tree. Some holiday stuff like that, I guess."

"That sounds lovely," he replied, finishing up with his computer and looking over at her. "I'm sure that's something you're both looking forward to."

"Yes," Diana said with a little smile. "And what about you? Do have anything fun going on this weekend?" The second the question was out of her mouth, Diana wasn't sure if she should have asked it. It really wasn't any of her business, and after all, he'd only been trying to make small talk with her.

He laughed. "Certainly. I plan to get caught up on all three seasons of Game of Thrones."

That was a surprise. Diana blinked. "Seriously?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Mr. Nichols tilted his head and grinned. "Do you find it hard to believe that I'm really a gigantic nerd?"

"Yes," she blurted out, then bit her lip. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

"I am simply delighted to hear you say so," Mr. Nichols replied, stepping around the desk and chuckling. "Despite the luxuries afforded by my, er, family, and the connections that are obviously included, I'm really quite a simple man at heart and prefer quiet evenings when I can get them in to spending weekend nights in soulless lounges, or eating real, homecooked cuisine to overpriced, uninspired snobbish food. Not that I can cook."

Diana blushed furiously at her own forwardness and also at the private details of his life that he was sharing with her. "All this from…Indiana Jones?" she said lightly, with a timid smile.

He laughed again. "Yes, indeed. In between adventures, of course." He perched against the desk, leaning toward her with a smile as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'd much prefer an evening like the one you've described to the ones that I'm sure my uncle would prefer I have."

Diana understood that he meant those words just merely as polite conversation but a surge of heat flew through her at the thought of Mr. Nichols doing something as domestic as going out to purchase a Christmas tree and decorate with her and her daughter. Maybe after they watched the slew of Christmas programs that was starting to fill the TV lineup, they'd retire to her room – their room – and spend the night in each other's arms…not sleeping.

_Whoa. Must stop._ Diana shook herself and realized her face felt like it was on fire. "Do you have that contract for me to sign?"

She didn't mean to sound so abrupt, but she simply couldn't endure one more second of him smiling at her like that, and thinking the thoughts she had just been. He blinked a little, but smoothly rose from his perch and turned around to go around his desk, reaching out to clack away at his keyboard again.

"I certainly do," he said, his eyes glued to the screen. "If you'll give me just a moment, I'll print the copy out. I apologize for not having done that sooner – I know you're in a hurry to get home."

Instantly Diana felt bad, but there was really nothing for her to say. _"Oh, sorry for being rude. I was just daydreaming about what it would be like to share my life and my bed with you and now I'm all tingly and speechless."_ So, she simply remained quiet and waited.

He used his mouse to click a few things on screen and then glanced over at her. "There," he said. "Sent to the printer."

As if on cue, the printer began to power up. It was making its normal electronic sounds when all of a sudden a high, screeching whine filled the room followed by a horrible crunching noise. They both froze.

"That does not sound promising," Mr. Nichols murmured and moved across the office to fiddle with the printer. The red light on the machine began to rapidly blink as it made the screeching and crunching noise over and over. Diana looked on in concern as Mr. Nichols reached out to press buttons on the machine to no avail. He glanced back at her with an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm afraid I have to confess that at this point I'm just pressing buttons," he said loudly over the racket of the caterwauling machine. "I have absolutely no idea how to fix this."

Diana bit her lip, and then took a few steps toward him. She gestured to the machine. "May I?"

"By all means," he replied, stepping back to give her room.

She reached around the machine and yanked the cord that connected it to the outlet in the wall and the noise immediately ended as the machine powered off. She pulled out the paper tray of the fancy printer to try to peek inside. While she couldn't see very far inside the machine, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that there was a major paper jam. In order to fix it, it required tools to take the top part of the printer off.

She moved back toward Mr. Nichols' desk and reached for the phone. She punched a few buttons and waited until the onsite IT maintenance guy picked up. He usually stayed late on Fridays to get a jump start on servicing the machines – the printers, the faxes, the copiers, the scanners, etc. – and refilling paper after everyone left, so he didn't have to come back on Saturday or Sunday to do it. She asked him to come to the CEO's office to fix a printer issue and he said that he would be up within twenty minutes as he was currently trying to debug another associate's laptop, and the antivirus software that he had just installed had to be monitored to closely to ensure it was working properly.

"No problem," Diana said. "And thank you."

She hung up and glanced at Mr. Nichols. "He'll be up within twenty minutes to fix the printer."

"Smashing," he replied. "And I am terribly sorry that this is going to delay you this evening. Perhaps you ought to be on your way – this can wait until Monday, I'm sure."

"Which client is it?" Diana asked. Mr. Nichols walked around to his desk again and pulled up the document.

"Barter Bob's, Inc.," Mr. Nichols read.

Barter Bob's was one of the fastest growing specialty grocery chains; the stores were generally small, with wooden floors and shelves. They were decorated to appear like the dusty old-fashioned general stores that one might find in a small town in, say, the late nineteenth or early twentieth centuries. They had their own brand of products as well as a few lesser known brands, and their prices were both reasonable on some products and very high on others – like produce. Diana was acquainted with their corporate headquarters out of Chicago.

"I wouldn't keep them waiting," she replied. "If they want it tonight, we'll send it tonight." She smiled. "Trust me. I know them."

"Ah." Mr. Nichols bowed his head humbly. "I shall defer to your wisdom, Yoda. In the meantime, since I've managed to botch up your evening plans, at least for a bit, could I offer you a cup of tea?"

"Sure," Diana said shyly. "Tea sounds great."

He went to the fancy one-cup machine behind his desk that was on a table that also held a couple steel canisters of loose leaf tea, so fragrant Diana could smell it from where she was a dozen feet away. She was not normally a tea drinker, but what he had smelled like brewed flowers. He turned toward her again and handed her a mug. There was a tiny silver tea leaf infuser hanging off a chain at the bottom of her cup, and she brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Her initial assessment had been correct; it smelled like a thousand flowers had been brewed together in this single cup. Her mouth watered involuntarily.

"What kind of tea is this?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest," he replied with a smile. "I picked it up during one trip I took to Bora Bora a couple years ago. One of the chaps I met there assured me it would rank among the finest teas I've ever had – him of course knowing that I'm English, and by proxy a tea snob – and I daresay he was absolutely correct in his promise. Try a sip."

Diana smiled back as she brought the mug to her lips. The hot liquid flowed over her tongue, and her eyes went wide. It was simply one of the most amazing things she'd ever tasted. "It tastes exactly like it smells, but it's sweet, too," she said in wonder. "This is incredible. I could drink this every day."

"I'm glad you like it," he replied, taking his own sip. "It's amazing what you can find in the smallest, most remote corners of the world."

He sauntered toward the large floor-to-ceiling window that spanned one entire wall of the office, offering a spectacular view of downtown Manhattan. It was dark and the city was brightly lit. He let out a sigh of admiration.

"Then again," he said, gesturing with his mug toward the view. "It's amazing also what you can see while looking down on a bustling metropolis such as this."

Inexplicably, Diana slowly rose from her seat and joined him at the window. She noticed that his eyebrows lifted a little but otherwise he didn't give any indication that he was surprised by her action.

"You know," she said softly, "I've lived in this city my entire life and I never get tired of seeing this. When I was a kid I always told myself I wanted to work in a building that would let me have this sort of view. There's nothing like the New York City skyline." She smiled as she glanced over at him. "That, of course, coming from a native New Yorker. You can't tell us anything."

He laughed. "Well, then I'll say that the London and Paris skylines run a close second. How about that?"

"That works," she said. "I have always wanted to travel. I love New York, but I know that there are so many more amazing places on this Earth." She lifted her mug. "Places that have tea like this. Places that have better skylines. Places that aren't huge cities but have a culture that is so different than anything I've ever experienced. Places where life is slow and leisurely, where it's just the ocean and the mountains and the trees and the breeze."

"This world," Mr. Nichols said, taking a sip of his tea, "is full of incredible beauty. Full of history, full of miracles, full of wonders, full of things that could bring you to tears with their very presence, their majesty, their beauty. And yet, I find, that the most beautiful places are where your heart resides." He offered a slightly cheeky smile. "As cheesy as that sounds, and believe me, that is cheesy."

"Was that a more articulate way of saying 'home is where your heart is'?" Diana teased gently.

"Something like that," Mr. Nichols replied. "Before I came here I had actually just finished spending an extended amount of time in Mombasa. I plan to one day make that lovely place my home."

"Mombasa?" Diana repeated, surprised.

"I know, I know. London-born chap, educated, rich family, military career, putting down roots near the bush." He shrugged a little self-deprecatingly. "I assure you that it took no one else more by surprise than me. But, I've always sort of eschewed the comfortable norm for the dangerous, exciting possibilities, and Mombasa is a place where there is plenty of danger and excitement, as well as peace and leisure. Just depends what you make of it."

"There's that Indiana Jones thing again," Diana said with a smile.

Mr. Nichols chuckled. "Indeed, indeed."

"Is that where you'll be heading when your uncle comes back?" she asked, hoping she wasn't being too nosy.

He turned to look at her, his eyes seeming to search hers intently before he made his reply. She suddenly got the impression that he had something he wanted to tell her, something important. "Perhaps," he said finally. "Unless more pressing business keeps me here."

There was nothing suggestive about the words he chose, but she swore the tone of his voice changed slightly, becoming deeper, perhaps a little softer. There was something buried in that tone, and combined with the way he was looking at her, it made her feel warm all over suddenly.

"Oh," was all she could manage.

"I am finding," he went on, taking a small, almost imperceptible step toward her, "that I like this city more and more each day."

He was close enough for her to feel his body heat, and she got a good, subtle whiff of his cologne. Nancy was right; whatever it was, it was simply delicious, and it made her head spin.

"What do you like about it?" she asked, wincing at the slightly breathy tone of her voice. She couldn't help it; suddenly she was finding it difficult to breathe properly. And think straight.

He looked down into her eyes and smiled gently. "Well, some of the people I've met here have made my stay quite enjoyable so far. I'm sure without even really knowing it."

"That's funny," she bantered back. "Most people find New Yorkers to be quite rude."

"Not everyone," he said softly, gazing at her steadily. "I've been rather charmed by one or two special people."

_How did I get here?_ she wondered suddenly. _I'm supposed to be signing a contract, not flirting with the boss against a backdrop of New York at night during Christmas! This isn't good._

Almost as if he could read her mind, Mr. Nichols took a step back from her. She tried to cover her surprise – had she accidentally spoken out loud, or given some other indication that she was uncomfortable?

_Not uncomfortable, _she thought, _just a little confused. And dizzy._

"I believe help has arrived," Mr. Nichols said, moving across the room toward the printer.

"Oh." Diana quickly set her mug down on the edge of his desk and tried to look normal, or at least that she hadn't just been standing one inch away from the CEO, losing herself in the depths of his eyes and probably drooling like an idiot.

She hadn't even heard the bell above the elevator go off, but sure enough the maintenance worker had arrived and walked into the office.

"Hey," he offered them both casually.

"Hello, mate," Mr. Nichols said easily. "Appears that the printer is malfunctioning."

"Yeah." The young man barely spared Mr. Nichols a glance as he reached for the tools on his belt to unscrew in the top part of the printer. Mr. Nichols smirked and glanced over at Diana, who smiled back in amusement.

It was only another ten minutes before the worker had managed to clear the jam, get rid of the ruined paper, and reset the machine to get it working again. Mr. Nichols printed off another copy of the contract, which came out smoothly in pristine condition, and thanked the maintenance guy. They got another nod and a mumbled "Yeah" as he ambled out of the office and back to the elevator.

"That," Mr. Nichols commented, "is an ambitious and inspiring young man."

Diana laughed. "Josh has been here for five years," she said. "That's just – that's just how he is. Don't be mean," she added teasingly, and reached out to playfully swat his arm before she realized what she'd done. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Nichols," she apologized hastily. "I – that was a little, um, familiar of me."

"No, don't apologize at all," he said quickly. "I'm a bit of a cheeky blighter every now and again, and I'm sure my mother would encourage as many swats as possible to my person to keep me firmly in line."

Diana blushed. "I can go ahead and sign this for you," she said, clearing her throat and reaching for the contract. Her fingers brushed his as he handed it to her, and she glanced up at him quickly when he didn't let go right away. He looked at her steadily, giving her a little half-smile as he gently released the sheaf of papers.

She glanced down again, scribbling her signature on a few pages where it was noted, and felt like her face was on fire. He was definitely interested in her; even with as unpracticed and inexperienced as she had been since she was, well, a teenager, it was obvious even to her.

She cleared her throat again and straightened, handing him back the stack and taking care to keep her fingers to herself. "Here you go," she said.

"Thank you very, very much," he said. "I truly do appreciate you staying late to assist me, and I apologize for the unexpected detour that this evening took."

"No need to apologize," she said.

"Very well. Because I must confess that I am not at all sorry at the opportunity it presented to get to know you a little better." He spoke as he added his own signature to the contract and stacked the sheets together neatly. "It's always lovely to chat with you, Diana." He glanced up. "Forgive me. Miss di Natale."

It wasn't like he was coming on strong, or saying anything truly shocking, but Diana felt as shy and tongue-tied as a thirteen-year-old. _You have really got to get some game,_ she chided herself. _If only Nancy were here. She would know exactly what to say._

"I – it's lovely to talk to you, too," she echoed softly. "When I'm not insulting your company, that is."

He laughed out loud, and she felt immediate relief. "We're still not past that, eh?"

"Might be too soon," she said, smiling.

"Well. I shall have to let you sort that out by yourself, as I can't even see it in my rearview mirror any longer." He stuck the papers into the fax machine and dialed a number, and one by one, the sheets were scanned to Chicago. When they were done, he tossed the contract negligently on his desk and smiled at her. "I don't know about you, but I am ready to leave. I'd like to offer you a ride home."

"Oh, no," Diana said quickly, shaking her head. "No, I couldn't. It's Friday night, and you have seriously got better things to do than tote me out to the Bronx –"

"This conversation sounds awfully familiar," Mr. Nichols interrupted smoothly, and reached for her coat. He held it open for her and smiled. "If I recall correctly we had a similar one at the top of the week. And I seem to remember just how it played out. I won't take no for an answer."

Diana looked at him helplessly, equally caught off guard by his willingness to shuttle her home in his private car service and the way he was helping her into her coat, like a true gentleman. He straightened the lapels of her coat gently from behind her, reaching over her shoulders, and spoke into her ear.

"Now, then," he said, and his voice flowed like honey into her body. "I believe that's settled. If you're quite ready, I would very much like it if you would accompany me down to the car, and I'll see to it that you get home safely and in a timely manner."

"Th-thank you," she stammered. The solid wall of his chest had been touching her back lightly, and his hands rested on her shoulders for an instant before he moved toward the door and held it open for her.

Diana couldn't help feeling a little guilt; she _knew_, damn well, that this was so far beyond the bounds of appropriate company conduct. She knew it was wrong, and that she – and he – could find themselves in very hot water.

But as she got in the elevator with, and shared another quiet glance with him, and felt the way her heart hammered in her chest, and realized she had _never_ felt quite this way toward a man before – not even Michael – she decided it might be worth the risk.


End file.
